UC-NRLF 


SB    57    707 


CRYSTAL  THURBERWALD 


IRA  ARIEL  KELLOGG 


GIFT   OF 


CRYSTAL  THURBERWALD 


OR 


THE  EVANGEL  OF  TAPPANEAU 


IRA  ARIEL  KELLOGG 

"Veteran  Soldier" 


Presented  by 

THE  CRYSTAL  STRAND  PUBLISHING  COMPANY 
SAN  FRANCISCO,  CALIFORNIA 


NEAL,  STRATFORD  C&  KERR 
521  Market  Street,  San  Francisco,  California 

Printers  and  Distributors 
Copyright  applied  for  by  the  Author.    All  rights  reserved 


To  His  Royal  Majesty 
ALBERT,  KING  OF  THE  BELGIANS 


CONTENTS 


Page 

FOREWORD    1 

I.    THE  TRUCE 7 

II.    THE  SHOCK 27 

III.  QUI-VIVE    41 

IV.  THE  INVADER 58 

V.     THE  TERROR 73 

VI.    BETRAYAL 88 

VII.     SOLDIERS  OF  THE  KING 119 

VIII.     Quo  VADIS 124 

IX.    LE  COUPE  DE  MORT 134 

X.     THE  FLIGHT 143 

XI.  THE  CRATER  FIELDS.  .                                                              .  154 


PREFATORY  NOTE 


In  the  following  pages  Charles,  Count  of  Tappaneau,  represents 
simply  the  alert  spirit  which  during  the  great  war  ever  characterized 
the  Belgians.  He  is  in  no  sense  a  real  -character.  All  of  the  situations 
are  pure  fiction.  Real  names  are  used  only  as  complimentary  and  with 
due  respect,  with  the  exception  of  Niels  de  Bode,  which  character  pos 
sibly  is  too  severe. 

The  fundamental  hatreds  and  passions  of  the  war  are  avoided  as 
far  as  possible,  as  it  is  now  the  duty  of  all  to  forget.  The  history  of 
the  Belgian  campaign  is  followed  very  closely. 

THE  AUTHOR. 


CRYSTAL  THURBERWALD 

OR 

THE  EVANGEL  OF  TAPPANEAU 


Ira  Ariel  Kellogg 


FOREWORD 

Within  the  province  of  beloved  Brabant, 

Near  Mont  St.  Guilbert  on  the  river  Nil, 

Which  in  the  heart  of  Belgium  gentle  twines, 

Lieth  the  country  seat  of  Tappaneau. 

Towers  gleam  afar  to  St.  Gudule  upraised, 

Where  knealt  bold  Godfrey,  fair  and  Christian  knight, 

To  take  the  cross.  Afar  loom  palaces 

Where  William  the  Silent  learned  to  champion 

Free  Holland  'gainst  the  lance  of  swollen  Spain. 

Here,  Margaret  of  Austria  held  court, 

Spain  swept  high  zenith  of  her  power,  nor  less, 

From  Tappaneau,  famed  fields  of  Waterloo, 

Haze  hung  and  glorified,  at  eve  recall 

Vast  dreams  of  empire  'neath  kind  blooms  o'erblown, 

Time's  glory,  aye,  and  lost  Napoleon. 

Most  peaceful  lieth  Tappaneau  enclosed 

By  wooded  glens  which  notch  the  Arden  hills. 

By  Clovis  once  'twas  called  "The  Linnet's  Nest." 

By  him  'twras  given  to  the  first  bold  count 

Of  Tappaneau. 


CRYSTAL  THURBERWALD 

OR 

THE  EVANGEL  OF  TAPPANEAU 


Ira  Ariel  Kellogg 


FOREWORD 

Within  the  province  of  beloved  Brabant, 

Near  Mont  St.  Guilbert  on  the  river  Nil, 

Which  in  the  heart  of  Belgium  gentle  twines, 

Lieth  the  country  seat  of  Tappaneau. 

Towers  gleam  afar  to  St.  Gudule  upraised, 

Where  knealt  bold  Godfrey,  fair  and  Christian  knight, 

To  take  the  cross.  Afar  loom  palaces 

Where  William  the  Silent  learned  to  champion 

Free  Holland  'gainst  the  lance  of  swollen  Spain. 

Here,  Margaret  of  Austria  held  court, 

Spain  swept  high  zenith  of  her  power,  nor  less, 

From  Tappaneau,  famed  fields  of  Waterloo, 

Haze  hung  and  glorified,  at  eve  recall 

Vast  dreams  of  empire  'neath  kind  blooms  o'erblown, 

Time's  glory,  aye,  and  lost  Napoleon. 

Most  peaceful  lieth  Tappaneau  enclosed 

By  wooded  glens  which  notch  the  Arden  hills. 

By  Clovis  once  'twas  called  "The  Linnet's  Nest." 

By  him  'twas  given  to  the  first  bold  count 

Of  Tappaneau. 


Four  times  of  eld  'twas  razed, 
Four  times  anew  't\vas  built  more  nobly  fair. 
It  served  as  fortress  to  an  high-walled  town 
That  braved  the  impious  Dons.  Huge  crumbled  walls 
Mossed  in  deep  woods  are  found. 

Its  first  highway 

Was  by  the  mightiest  Caesar  trod.   Cohorts 
And  Legions  clanged  its  dim  byways,  where  tide 
Of  battle  oft  had  hurled  its  ruby  flood 
To  strands  beyond  man's  ken  or  reasoning. 

When  from  the  crumbled  empire  of  fair  France 
There  fell  the  boon  of  peace,  then  all  the  powers 
Decreed — the  mighty  Corsican  overthrown — 
There 'd  be  no  Avars  in  Belgium  evermore. 

Upon  that  guaranty  with  hope  newborn 

A  nation  laid  its  armor  by  and  hung 

The  trenchant  blade  to  rust  on  castle  walls — 

Heirlooms  of  vast  romantic  pasts,  through-shot 

With  bitterest  pain — the  memory  of  the  heel 

Of  ruthless  tyranny  so  long  abroad. 

Thereby  at  Tappaneau  staunch  blades,  the  best 
In  Christiandom,  turned  unto  paths  of  peace. 
These  sons  of  fair  Walloonia,  grown  mild, 
Pursued  the  wraith  of  riches  and  did  well; 
And  of  their  armor  strong  one  sword  alone 
And  one  thick  shield  was  burnished  bright. 
And  thus  the  tale  of  it : — 

THE   SWORD  UNBLESSED. 

Long  long  ago,  ere  William  of  Brabant 

Or  Guy  de  Mountfort  led  their  hosts  abroad, 


Sir  Godfrey  came  to  Brussels  town  to  'scape 

That  peasant  throng  which  after  Clermont's  council  rose 

By  boundless  crimes  of  Islaam  red  inflamed. 

A  clanging  horde,  impatient  and  headlong; 

Urged  by  the  militant  Peter  madly  on; 

Scarce  led,  unkempt  and  largely  wrong; 

By  voice  of  Urban  fired  to  blinding  zeal, 

These  swept  with  clangor  to  foul  death  beyond 

The  Iron  Gate  of  Hungary. 

After 

Did  Godfrey  urge  to  wiser  counsel  chiefs 
Of  Normandy  and  his  Loraine,   Called  thus, 
Came  Robert  Duke  of  Normandy  devout, 
Came  Stephen  of  Blois,  Raymond  St.  Giles, 
E  'en  Robert  Duke  of  Flanders  with  an  host 
Of  knights  and  squires. 

Three  hundred  thousand  strong 
Took  vows  and  buckled  armor  on. 

These  knights 

Urged  many  a  fete  and  manly  joust  the  while 
That  first  Crusade  was  clearly  planned, 
And  in  the  early  month  of  flowers  they  held 
Full  tournament  to  crown  with  note  the  end 
Of  preparation  for  the  "Cross  Redeemed'7. 

Upon  the  close  of  that  pro-valiant  day, 

When  Godfrey's  sword  had  many  a  trophy  won, 

The  flower  of  all  the  concourse  of  his  knights 

Came  with  him,  reverent  and  low,  to  St.  Gudule 

To  kneel  most  humble  to  that  holy  shrine, 

To  take  new  vows  of  service  to  their  cause. 

Lo,  as  they  knealt  came  forth  the  ancient  charge, 
With  holy  monks  a  train,  with  new-made  robes 
And  clothed  the  chiefs  with  garments  of  the  Cross, 
Thrice  blest  by  reverent  hands. 


New  arms  they  gave — 

To  Godfrey  one  great  shield,  embossed  in  gold 
The  mighty  Cross,  with  sword  of  like  design 
That  through  the  dim  aisles  gleamed  celestial  fire. 
They  prayed  for  hearts  renewed  as  by  the  same 
Eternal  flame. 

By  Godfrey's  side  knealt  down 
One  Charles  of  Tappaneau,  devoted  squire, 
New  joined  indeed,  but  loved  for  promised  might. 
There,  gazing  on  the  ruddy  boy  o'ergraced 
By  the  ancient  chancel's  soft  and  mothering  fires, 
The  powerful  duke  upraised  the  untried  blade 
And  lightly  touched  the  shoulder  of  the  youth. 

"For  thy  brave  strife  this  day  in  yonder  field, 
And  for  thy  prayers  this  night  before  God's  throne 
I  dub  thee  knight:  to  thee  bequeath  the  arms 
I  here  discard  for  this  heaven-hallowed  blade. 

"Now,  till  the  day  thy  house  in  cause  as  just 
May  honor  them,  preserve  them  well. 

"Cursed  be 

The  soul  that  in  unholy  strife  shall  wield 
This  trenchant  brand,  this  war-hewn  battle  shield." 

With  tremulous  hand,  'tis  said,  young  Charles  assayed 

to  bear  his  benefactor's  gifts  away. 

The  sound  of  buckler  on  that  shield,  they  tell, 

Swept  through  the  arches  like  a  silver  bell. 

Unto  that  chime  both  champion  and  host 

Fared  forth  to  bleed,  to  love,  to  die,  to  boast, 

To  quarrel  and  dissent,  until  the  Cross, 

Behind  the  hate  of  man,  grew  dim,  till  loss 

Engulfed  the  gain,  hope's  fine  gold  turned  to  dross: 


Till  Bohemond  and  Raymond,  yea,  St.  Giles 
Turned  toward  voluptuous  shores,  erotic  isles; 
Till  Godfrey — plodding  soldier — 'gainst  all  odds 
Won  from  keen  foes  the  city  we  call  God's. 

Mighty  waxed  he  in  lands  of  Christian  name, 
Mighty  for  deeds,  but  most  for  that  pure  flame 
Of  Chivalry  which  crowned  his  age — 
Still  burns,  despite  a  pagan  sea  of  rage. 

He  only  of  the  great  spurned  royalty 
Where  Christ  bore  reddening  thorns  in  Caesar's  day. 
"Ah,  'tis  not  mete,"  said  he,  "to  wear  a  crown 
Where  our  loved  Lord  His  priceless  life  laid  down." 

Thus  lived  the  first  crusader,  thus  his  band, 

Thus  take  their  place  among  the  vast  array 

Of  earth's  great  names.   Of  Charles  of  Tappaneau 

Scant  word  remains  save  that  he  bled,  and  loved, 

And  died,  e'en  as  his  duke,  in  Palestine 

Beside  his  Savior's  tomb — a  pilgrim's  rest. 

But.  in  the  halls  of  Tappaneau,  foraye 

The  sword  and  shield  of  Godfrey  wrere  revered. 

To  burnish  them  became  a  household  creed, 

And  sanctified  to  daughter,  wife  and  lord. 

No  sullied  hand  might  touch  them,  none  draw  near 

To  meddle  nor  to  play — and,  ah,  disgrace 

Most  foul  to  each  bold  son  who  could  not  say 

Before  the  home's  pure  altars:  — "Here  I  bear 

The  shield  of  Godfrey  conscience  clear; 

Here  lift  this  sword  as  Godfrey  swayed  it  up 

Stern  for  the  right  God  wills!    My  utmost  drop 

Of  blood  I  pour  in  our  defense.    I  die 

True  serviced  to  my  king:  grief's  tears  I  dry; 

The  burden  of  the  weak  I  share;  I  shield 


The  best  in  woman;  ne'er  may  yield  by  thought 
To  love  ignoble;  ne'er  shall  boast  nor  swear 
Away  the  name  of  foe  or  friend;  forbear 
In  all  things,  yea,  be  just  in  all  to  all, 
E'en  as  I  pray  God  benizen  this  hall." 

And  though  at  times  in  that  rude  Middle  age 
The  sturdy  knights  of  Tappaneau  forgot 
In  part  that  oath  of  chivalry,  one  thing 
Beyond  all  others  they  held  fast — the  love 
To  wife  or  daughter  at  her  gracious  best; 
Priceless  this  star  of  glory  to  their  crest. 
Such  nurture  ne  'er  brought  forth  a  bloom  so  fair 
As  flourished  'neath  the  shield  of  Tappaneau. 
Full  many  a  crown  in  royal  courts  was  doffed 
Before  these  maidens  of  Brabant;  and  oft 
Gay  bards  and  minstrels  wound  a  merry  tale 
'Bout  Mont  St.  Guilbert's  woody  hill  and  dale. 
At  times,  a  burning  heart  sweet  cloister  found 
In  these  maids'  love,  like  seed  in  sacred  ground. 

So  sweep  brave  days  down  through  the  span  of  time. 
Through  glittering  change  as  well  as  gentle  peace; 
Through  all  the  bitter  wars  that  Belgium  lashed; 
Through  all  the  truces  made  and  given, 
Unto  a  modern  time  and  dawning  peace; 
Yea,  e  'en  till  now — Ah,  listen,  friend  of  man ! 
Hear  the  evangel  of  Tappaneau 
And  learn  its  cause. 


PART  I. 


THE  TRUCE 

A  countess  sat  within  her  garden  bower 
Upon  a  summer's  eve  at  Tappaneau, 
And  at  her  feet  leaned  one  she  loved — a  flower 
Of  Mont  St.  Guilbert's  town — named  Crystal. 

Quaint 

The  name  and  sweet  the  Flemish  maid  beyond 
The  comely  measure  of  that  country  side. 
Quick  dawned  her  smile  and  innocent  her  eyes 
Displayed  the  image  of  her  heart  and  soul 
As  tempered  lightnings  trace  a  distant  hill. 

Long  had  she  been  the  countess'  protege, 
E'en  from  the  lady's  day  of  widowhood 
When  her  loved  lord  was  slain  on  Afric  soil, 
By  Congo's  treacherous  tribes  beset  and  trapped, 
To  leave  his  two  babes  fatherless  at  home. 

There  was  a  lonely  dell  at  Tappaneau, 

Pierced  by  a  Roman  wall  by  Adrian  built, 

Where  long  ago  a  chapel  stood,  a  shrine 

To  some  sweet  saint  of  long  forgotten  name. 

And  here  they  let  repose  the  stricken  lord. 

Oft  here  in  heavy  grief  the  countess  came 

To  sob  and  tear  to  shreds  her  youth's  full  bloom, 

Till  on  a  day  the  prattle  of  a  child, 

Who  somehow  scaled  the  tattered  Roman  wall, 

Rent  ope  the  grave  wherein  her  hopes  lay  tombed, 

Restored  direction  to  her  buried  love. 


8 

Quick  to  the  leading  old  as  grizzled  earth, 

She  ceased  to  mourn  the  mouldering  sod. 

The  child  had  said: — "I  thought  on  your  side  must  be  God; 

And  so  I  climbed  along  this  slaty  wall. 

There's  nothing  left  but  flowers.     They  are  all!" 

God's  in  the  flowers,"  the  lady's  quick  reply. 
"Come  down,  my  pretty  one.    I'll  tell  thee  why." 

Thence  sprang  the  love  for  Crystal  warm  until 
It  oped  the  castle  gates  at  her  sweet  will. 

When  crowning  years  to  fuller  youth  had  brought 
Charles  and  his  sister,  those  two  orphaned  ones, 
As  eagles  from  their  lofty  parapets 
Both  stepped  them  forth  of  life  to  learn. 

More  then 

The  mother  unto  Crystal  turned.     Each  hour 
Chimed  lonely  with  her  presence  gone.    Right  well 
The  lady  taught  her  protege,  nor  spared 
One  household  treasure  that  she  had  not  shared. 
While  Caroline  at  Luxemburg,  beneath 
The  guard  of  that  famed  ducal  seat,  of  grace 
And  courtly  science  learned  full  mede,  bold  Charles, 
Her  twin  in  all  save  sex,  at  Heidelburg 
Won  noted  praise.     Their  place  within  the  halls 
Of  Tappaneau  was  filled  most  gratefully 
By  Crystal,  nestled  in  the  Countess'  heart. 

But  not  so  well  without  those  castle  walls 
In  Mont  St.  Guilbert's  town  the  buxom  maids 
Beheld  her.     Many  secret  chidings  they 
Indulged,  and  oft  their  fretting  reached  the  ear 
Of  Thurberwald,  her  aging  Flemish  sire. 
Then,  mid  elation  at  her  fortune,  blent 
A  vague  unrest  to  mar  his  mind's  repose. 


But  sires  forget,  and  ne'er  a  word  was  breathed 
To  mull  the  joy  of  Crystal  Thurberwald. 
Earth-wide  the  realm  of  romance  oped  to  her 
Beside  the  ancient  Roman  wall. 

"Yes,  God, 

Indeed,"  thought  she  in  her  sweet  votive  hours, 
"Doth  dwell  this  side  the  wall  among  the  flowers.'1 
So,  deep  within  the  garden  bower,  that  eve 
Both  sat  right  happily  and  watched  the  sun 
Swing  slowly  down  across  the  somber  fields 
Of  Waterloo.     From  Mont  St.  Guilbert's  tower 
The  Angelus  pealed  sweet  and  low  afar, 
While  in  the  meadows  Flemish  peasantry 
Bowed  reverent  amid  the  scented  hay. 


"Ah,  Crystal,  dear,"  said  she  of  silvered  hair, 

"Hast  thou  seen  aught  so  glorious  anywhere? 

Yon  gaunt  Swiss  Alps,  the  keen,  chill  Baltic  sea 

Were  ne'er  so  dear  as  my  Brabant  to  me. 

Home  will  be  home  and  hearts  must  linger  there 

While  all  the  temporal  may  fade  in  air; 

And  just  of  late  more  tender  all  hath  seemed 

Than  hope's  effulgent  visions  we  have  dreamed. 

Perhaps  'tis  motherhood  leans  eager  toward  her  joy — 

The  flying  days  soon  bring  me  home  my  blessed  boy. 

Firm  hath  he  promised  me — he's  ever  just — 

To  curb  his  spirit's  wilful  wanderlust. 

Ah,  me !    My  rugged  boy !    My  Charles  of  Tappaneau, 

He'll  lift  the  lightest  burden  from  his  mother's  heart,  I  know." 

Warm  in  the  maiden's  cheek  sprang  up  the  flame 
Of  eager  joy  exultant  at  the  name. 
Life  sparkled  brilliant,  all  grew  wonderful 
Whene'er  the  children  came.    Defying  rule, 
The  gray  chateau,  awakened  as  by  a  wand, 


10 

Leaped,  moved.     The  lovelight  shown  abroad  beyond 
It's  towers.    Bright  comings,  goings,  far  or  near, 
Lay  in  the  wake  of  youth's  abundant  cheer. 

Yet  ne'er  spake  Crystal  of  these  tempting  things, 
The  stir  which  lent  to  fancy  eager  wings. 
Devoutly  she  essayed  to  look  through  eyes 
Serene,  wherein  110  flash  of  passion  lies — 
No  easy  task!    Her  young  soul  oft  would  spur 
A  strong-winged  Pegasus  in  spite  of  her. 

Now  quick  she  rose  her  telltale  cheek  to  shield 
Against  that  blush  which  might  not  be  concealed, 
And  softest  glamour  of  the  eve  enclosed 
About  a  dream  by  far  too  warmly  rosed: — 
"The  morrow  will  be  fair.    Yon  cloud  burns  red. 
Soft  winds  creep  low  and  westerly,"  she  said. 
"  Clear  loom  the  towers  of  ancient  Brussels  town, 
The  Arden  hills  wear  still  the  purple  crown ; 
Ere  sunset  dye  yon  irridescent  plain 
Eve  yields  its  gold  of  Ophir  back  again. 
Tonight  speer  forth  inquiring,  cautious  stars, 
Blue  Jupiter  transcendent  over  Mars 
Let  Taurus  rage  on  belted  Orion, 
The  dog  star  fiercely  eyes  Belerephon. 
Our  Venus  dips  soft  hands  in  tideless  seas, 
And  ours  remain  the  seven-bond  Pliades!" 

The   lady   smiled  with  absent  minded   sigh, 

Looked  toward  the  morrow  with  soft  glistening  eye 

Which  saw  her  treasured  absent  ones  apart, 

Nor  marked  the  flood  tide  surge  a  nearer  heart, 

Scarce  heard  the  maid  nor  how  inconsequent 

Her  words.    They  pleased.    The  Countess  dreamed  content. 


11 

The  cycle  of  her  thought  tripped  into  tune 

With  joys  that  fruit  with  summer  time  and  June. 

"Now,  that  our  day  is  waned  sing  me  a  song — 

That  quaint  tale  of  the  River  Scheldt. 

Beneath  its  cadences  my  worries  melt 

Till  'gainst  the  day  of  tasks  shall  I  grow  strong :" 

So  plead  the  lady  then,  and  Crystal  sang, 

And  rare  a  sweeter  thostle-note  from  rosebower  rang. 

SONG. 

A  maiden  dwelt  by  the  river  Scheldt 

In  a  castle  huge  and  wide, 
At  the  edge  of  the  vast  and  gray  morass 

Where  the  ancient  river  died. 

A  fair  knight  rode  through  the  German  wood 

To  kneel  at  the  maiden's  shrine. 
He  swore  by  the  sword  to  fight  for  his  Lord 

In  perished  Palestine. 

The  maiden  loved  the  knight  it  proved. 

He  wore  her  glove  in  his  -crest 
When  at  length  he  went  to  the  Orient 

Of  a  mighty  host  the  best. 

But  the  crest  did  droop  'neath  the  fiery  swoop 

Of  a  Mahound  scimetar ; 
The  knight  lay  slain  on  Acre's  plain 

Where  Richard  waged  his  war. 

His  lady  then  sought  the  boundless  fen 

At  her  castle 's  postern  door, 
Where  the  quags  lie  deep  and  the  heedless  sleep, 

And  they  tell  that  she  came  no  more. 

Where  the  maiden  died  the  marshes  wide 

Have  opened  to  the  sun 
The  Scheldt  flows  free  to  the  norther  sea. 

The  sad  fenland's  re-won. 


12 

Strong,  faithful  hands  redeemed  the  lands 

From  the  cypress  and  the  vine ; 
Far  in  the  wold  so  bleak  and  cold 

Men  found  the  lorn  maid's  shrine. 

Where,  plunged  in  grief,  'neath  the  somber  leaf 
Those  wastes  she  wandered  lone ; 

And  they  found  a  screed  that  men  may  read 
Carved  clear  on  her  altar  stone. 

"Till  the  stifled  Scheldt  strike  through  the  belt 

Of  wild  fens  to  the  sea, 
My  soul  shall  moan  in  the  marshes  lone, 

Low  gulfed  in  misery. 

"When  fair  ships  ride  the  Scheldt's  free  tide, 
And  the  fields  bloom  rich  and  far, 

My  grief  shall  cease  and  the  God  of  peace 
Shall  keep  my  land  from  war. ' ' 

The  fresh  young  voice  thrilled  through  the  cadences 

Of  the  quaint  folk-song  of  old,  and  filled  complete 

The  garden  and  the  bower.    It  overflowed 

The  wall  along  the  highway  set,  where  dusk  had  come 

Where  shadows  'neath  the  ancient  lindens  lay ; 

And  there  it  made  arrest  of  one  who  strode 

The  shadows  toward  St.  Q-uilbert's  town.    He  paused 

To  listen  through  the  well  known  lines,  a  gaunt, 

Marred,  ill-hung  man,  though  scarcely  aged. 

At  length 

He  muttered  and  passed  on.    A  puzzling  scorn 
Recurved  his  lip.    His  frown  hid  cruel  eyes 
Denying  youth  or  thought  of  innocence. 
His  step  swung  satyr-like,  as  one  who  marked 
Sweet  songs  for  naught  except  the  lust  they  roused. 
Thus  moved  he  on  and  to  the  lindens  spake: 
"Yon  voice  was  Crystal  Thurberwald 's.     Doubt  not 


13 

Yon  sprouting  heir  lies  better  entertained 
Than  I.     She  sees  no  more  the  playmate  of 
Her  babyhood.     Ill  speak  the  maids  of  her 
In  Mont  St.  Guilbert's  town.     My  Christ! 
'Tis  strange  old  Thurbedwald  sits  so  content 
Behind  you  Roman  wall,  nor  calleth  halt! 
The  Flemish  maid  doth  to  a  lord — heyday — 
Strum  tunes  far  better  told  at  tossing  hay! 
Swift  to  an  humbler  station  let  me  bring 
The  flower  of  yon  high  lady's  culturing. 
Par  fitter  to  wildrose  the  briared  farm, 
'Gainst  yonder  castle's  giddy,  hot-house  charm. 
Thus  let  me  hint  to  slow  wit  Thurberwald ; 
Thrust  common  rumor  to  him  plain  and  bold. 

"Lo,  what  I  lack  of  blood  I  seek  in  guile 

To  make  my  cunning  felt  for  many  a  mile. 

Yon  maid,  and  all  who  dwell  about,  hold  me 

Some  witless  clown,  forgetting  I  may  see 

And  sell  my  knowledge  dear,  yea,  far  more  dear 

Than  any  dream  who  pass  and  snub  me  here. 

Lord,  have  I  not  found  gold,  and  more  shall  win 

While  monarchs  court  sweet  knavery  to  truckle  in! 

I  carry  messages,  and  yet  I  see 

Far  more  than  patron  and  his  paltry  fee. 

Accursed  my  mother,  born  beyond  the  Rhine, 

If  aught  escape  without  the  guilty  sign ! 

I  know  where  wine  lies  hid,  and  gems,  and  stores, 

State  plans  more  valued  still  beyond  these  shores. 

Whatever  secrecies  my  soul  hath  sinned  in 

I'll  ply  a  market  fair  Unter  den  Linden! 

"Here  squats  the  cot  of  clumsy  Thurberwald. 
I'll  twit  him  till  his  Flemish  passion  scald 
And  scourge  him  up  to  snatch  his  child  away, 


14 

And  move  me  one  step  nearer  to  my  day. 
Gads,  were  she  but  a  message  bringer's  bride. 
Were  that  a  station  great  to  hurt  her  pride  ? 

"How  changed,  since  on  the  wall  we  plucked  the  rose! 

She  flaunts  me  now  and  gives  the  wrinkled  nose, 

The  haughty,  lifted  brow  and  fix-ed  eye, 

The  cold  and  chilling  stare  and  sweeps  me  by. 

But  roads  must  turn!     Before  eternity, 

Fate  makes  mere  idols  of  divinity!" 

Far  townward  ranged  the  shuffling  tread 
Through  gray  of  eve  that  superseded  red. 
Dropped  down  the  cool  of  night;  within  the  halls 
A  low  fire  gleamed  to  shadow-fleck  the  walls. 
There,  from  the  damping  bower,  came  the  two 
To  'scape  the  chilly  finger  of  the  dew. 
Hour  long  they  mused,  each  one  on  thoughts  apart 
That  nestled  close  and  secret  to  each  heart. 
Shadows  enlarged  and  lastly  all  concealed 
Save  fitful  gleam  on  Godfrey's  burnished  shield. 


. . 


I've  seen  so  little  of  my  fledglings  two 
This  host  of  years,"  the  Countess  sighed  at  last. 
"  Since  Heidelburg,  hath  Charles  on  distant  flight 
Assayed  the  vast  four  corners  of  the  world; 
And  Caroline's  a  lady  of  the  court 
Of  Luxemburg;  hath  special  favor  with 
Marie,  I  trust.    So  have  they  flown,  my  best, 
My  little  ones,  and  I  must  view  it  as 
The  best,  till  Charles  shall  make  the  better  flight — 
Homeward  at  last  direct  his  petrel  wing. 

"How  did  he  fright  me  when  to  Africa — 
Terrific  bourne  which  wrenched  from  me  his  sire — 


15 

He  sped  to  'company  Prince  Albert — now 
The  king!    They  say  the  prince  and  he  subdued 
A  score  of  savage  tribes ;  made  firm  the  rule 
Of  Belgium  'long  the  Congo's  solemn  tide; 
Oped  wide  the  gates  of  commerce  and  the  flux 
Of  energizing  hope  to   'nighted  hordes; 
Nay,  fought  huge  wild  beasts,  fist  to  claw, 
In  wilds  primeval  by  the  primal  law. 
God  grant  such  fangful  danger  nevermore 
Lure  love  of  mine  beyond  his  native  shore." 

"But  'tis  his  nature,"  Crystal  cried,  intense 
In  lively  interest.  "Where  deeds  are  done 
There  will  thy  Charles  be  found. 

"Dost  thou  recall 

How  once  he  stripped  yon  huge  shield  off  the  wall 
And  flashed  the  sword  sharp  unto  Brialmont 's  eyes — 
Brialmont,  the  king's  best  general?" 

"Indeed, 

That  I  recall,"  the  lady  smiled.    "Was  't  not 
The  first  day  home  from  Heidelburg?" 

"Madame, 

It  was.    Brialmont,  to  crown  our  welcomes  well, 
From  Brussels,  from  the  king,  brought  forth  to  Charles 
His  first  commission — marked,  distinct — that  he, 
The  general,  in  person  brought  it." 

"Yea, 

And  standing  in  this  hall,  now  I  recall, 

Quoth  he  to  Charles:    'What  one  most  valued  thing? 

What  epic  fact  hast  learned  in  Germany?' 

Up  straight  sprang  Charles  and  on  this  table's  top 

He  dashed  his  hard  fist  down.    'To  be  a  man; 

To  fight  when  fighting's  mete;  to  trust 


16 

No  gift  that  comes  from  conquerors ;  to  fear 

No  foe,  save  one  adroit  in  promises; 

To  build  my  house  on  no  soft,  gliding  sand 

Of  artificial  peace;  make  positive  defence 

Contrar  to  extraposed  neutrality. 

Warrior  am  I  as  all  my  grizzled  sires ! 

Here  then,  (Thus  clanged  the  shield  of  Godfrey  down) 

Behold  the  natural — the  man  of  men! 

Who,  sword  in  hand,  fares  from  his  caverned  glen, 

His  gaunted  hill,  his  tumbled  river's  tide, 

To  lift  to  heaven  some  standard  of  his  pride. 

God  wills!     God  wills! — his  native  battle  cry — 

Though  his  own  heart  the  best  of  wills  supply. 

"  'Where'er  ye  turn,  stern  nature  grips  at  war, 
From  lichen  gray  to  occidental  bear. 
There  is  no  peace — the  best,  a  span's  respite! 
What's  perfect  peace?    Oblivion  and  night! 
Sweet  rest  e'en  God  reserves  beyond  the  grave. 
'Twas  never  known  a  threateneid  land  to  save. 
Yea,  those  who  say  not  so  shall  feel  the  heel 
And  wheel  of  conquerors,  the  shagreened  steel. 
I  speak  of  peace  that  bears  dishonor's  stain, 
The  coward's  brand  and  comely  heaven's  disdain.' 

"Long  laughed  gray  Brialmont,  but  of  pride 
Outshone  swift  light  within  his  eyes.    Beside 
Him,  in  the  realm,  none  other  was  so  keen 
To  guard  the  frontiers  and  the  brimming  sea 
Against  a  day  of  grim  adversity. 
Thus  to  his  honored  end  the  warrior  taught. 

"  'The  king  hath  not  commissioned  thee  in  vain,' 

He  cried,   'Old  Heidelburg  hath  sent  us  home  a  man!' 


17 

"  Since  then  hath  rung  Sir  Brialmont's  solemn  knell. 

But  well  hath  Belgium  circled  Liege  in  steel 

And  set  a  guard  against  the  very  sun 

Of  France,  bade  England  'ware  as  one  who  sets 

His  boundary  to  the  main.    No  more 

Encroach  to  crumble  down  this  friendly  shore ! 

That  sharp  disfavor  known  to  Leopold 

Now  loseth  edge,  'neath  dawning  safety  dulled, 

Till  high  in  grace  strides  Albert  to  the  throne 

Where  Leopold  found  strife,  fought  years  alone." 

"And  Charles,"  the  maid  did  add,  " since  that  brave  day 
Doth  still  progress  in  favor  every  way. 
Tonight  his  errant  sail  may  toward  the  Baltic  spring, 
But  where  his  anchor  drops  be  sure  'twill  serve  his  king. 

"Oft  ponder  I,  what  were  to  Charles  those  years 
'Neath  tutilage  of  grizzled  German  peers. 
Since  then  he's  e'er  been  spurring  keenly  on 
In  multitude  of  service  to  the  crown, 
Never  at  rest  and  ne'er  a  night's  repose, 
No  gentle  love,  no  fragile  bridal  rose. 
What  vision  of  unholy  enterprise 
Paints  purple  poison  in  his  restless  skies  ? 

"I  tire  of  praying  for  his  safe  return, 
For  homey  gifts — sweet  chicks  of  his — I  yearn, 
Small  prattling  sent  to  win  a  granddame's  smile 
Dewdrop  love-pledges,  Crystal,  all't's  worth  while. 

"Lo,  are  we  not  secure?    Our  state  pledged  free? 
Have  we  not  still  a  king?    A  world's  fidelity? 
Oh,  would  my  Charles  were  home  foraye  and  wed 
These  overweening,  high  ambitions  dead. 
Come  help  me,  child,  until  we  coin  some  way 
To  win  him  from  such  self -wrought  tragedy." 


18 

Once  more  the  flood-tide  whealmed  in  Crystal's  cheek, 

But  kind  the  firelight  overgraced  it  well, 

And  ne'er  a  quivered  trill  of  voice  betrayed 

The  hurried  bosom  of  the  humbler  maid. 

Nor  lacked  she  power  to  ply  a  saving  art, 

Conceal  a  jewel  sacred  to  her  heart. 

How  keen — pure  mischief  quivering — she  dared: 

"We'll  try  again,  fair  Mme.  de  Belleville's  ward." 

More  than  distinct  a  petulant,  vivid  fire 

Flamed  in  the  elder's  cheek,  and  yet  she  smiled 

At  the  roguish  face.    Nay,  once  the  countess  planned 

By  innocent  design,  by  guileless  net 

To  'coy  her  son  to  pluck  a  brilliant  flower 

That  blushed  and  tempted  in  de  Belleville's  bower. 

But  of  that  faded  quest,  short  be  it  said, 

All  fell  to  naught — the  wary  Charles  had  fled. 

Th'  affectionate  jibe  might  hardly  waken  ire, 

Sufficient  'twas  to  fan  the  cheek  with  fire. 

"Shame  thee,  Crystal,  to  recall  the  wicked  state 
That  bars  a  modern  from  her  children's  fate." 

Then,  mid  much  laughter,  repartee  flew  fast 
Until  the  countess  towered  up  at  last. 
"For  that,"  she  cried,  "to  bed  we  sentence  thee." 
And  Crystal  sped  to  her  sweet  punishment  in  glee. 

Ah,  glee  will  turn  by  shortcut  o'  the  thought 
To  scenes  contrasting  bitter  quite  as  not. 
The  warrant  lies  at  odds:  within  the  year 
We  all  have  smiled  or  frowned  to  hide  a  tear. 
Thus,  long  upon  her  pillow's  restless  down 
Tossed  she  who  came  of  Mont  St.  Guilbert's  town; 
Ke-lived  long,  joyous  rambles,  growing  sad 
In  retrospect — sweet  treasury  of  lass,  of  lad. 


19 


"Not  mine,"  she  sighed,  "to  grasp  at  golden  straws 
Against  my  peace  of  living  and  its  laws." 
Yea,  though  she  reasoned  well,  her  heart  denied 
The  logic  o't,  for,  in  the  end,  she  cried. 

Years  since  had  Charles  and  Crystal  learned  the  creed 

That  holds  twixt  noble  born  and  humbler  breed. 

'Twas  after  Heidelburg  upon  a  day 

Of  sun  and  flowers,  of  hope  and  mystery; 

Far  had  they  wandered  o'er  the  Arden  hills 

O'er-rich  with  summer  bloom,  the  crystal  rills 

A-rush  with  latter  rain.    Climatis  spheres 

Hung  fairy-like  above  the  limpid  pools. 

The  cotton-tree  streamed  full  of  sheeny  floss 

And  gossimer  rode  every  tilting  thorn. 

Love's  dreamy  indolence  surcharged  the  crown 

O  sapphire  skies.    A  soft  Hesperian  breeze 

(Swept  far  inland  the  music  of  the  seas. 

Such  was  the  day — a  toxine  keen  as  wine 

Brewed  in  the  untrammeled  heart. 

Nor  less  divine 

In  native  charm  the  girl.    The  nimble  feet 
Of  her  outsped  the  faun.    The  laurel's  sweet 
Enticement,  and  the  larches'  feathered  shade 
Were  nil  against  the  flitting  shadow  of  the  maid. 
Far  more  than  nymph,  the  elfin  call 
Of  her  lured  Charles — became  the  apple  of  his  fall. 

He  saw  no  bluebirds  nesting  'neath  the  beech, 

No  rainbow  trout  a-flash  from  somber  pools, 

No  eaglets  found  that  garrisoned  their  crags, 

Nor  flushed  the  partridge  from  the  hazeled  hill. 

No  red-fox  leapt  and  scuttled  from  his  path. 

No  curlew  called  across  the  meadows  wide. 

He  heard  nor  saw  aught  else  but  Crystal — just  the  girl. 


20 

Lilting  she'd  led  him,  merry  all  day  long. 
Too  tempting  near  she  leaned  close  toward  his  heart 
At  eve,  when,  from  a  height,  they  spied  the  towers 
Of  home. 

He  kissed  her  then  quite  brotherly, 

Nay,  quite  heart  free,  nay,  quite  audaciously. 

Ah,  no!   A  touch,  a  torch,  a  flaming  dart 

Ne'er  truck  so  firy  passion  through  a  heart. 

Surprise  unto  surprise  in  widened  eyes 

Heaved  lightnings  like  mid-summer  skies. 

Melt  down  man's  artificial  bars  and  beams; 

Calm  universe  o'erturned — forgotten  dreams! 

What  then  decorum,  policy  or  pride? 

But  prison  vaults !    New  worlds  spread  free  and  wide ! 

Yet  were  both  sudden  seized  by  quelling  fright, 

Pate's  caverned  precipes  a-drop  beneath  their  sight; 

Far  down,  a  dumb  tide  rolled  against  their  joy. 

She  was  an  honest  lass,  alas,  and  he  the  honest  boy. 

Alas !  when  honor  severs  hearts  that  cling, 

Though  one  be  beggar-maid,  the  other  king. 

The  clanging  knight,  his  lance  in  roses  bound, 

Hides  no  such  hurt,  nor  leaves  so  fatal  wound. 

Yet  Charles  rang  true,  and  quick  as  passion's  sting, 

He  felt  remorse  because  he'd  done  a  wicked  thing. 

All  gentle,  he  her  clinging  arms  unwound 

To  stammer  o'er  convention's  chill  and  dismal  ground, 

And  Crystal  marked  with  wisdom  past  her  years 

His  contriteness  and  kissed  him  once  again  in  tears. 


. . 


Think  not,  Charles  boy,  I  know  not  all  thy  codes ; 
Of  thy  nobility,  the  narrow  roads. 
The  gift  that's  given — that  may  we  ne'er  recall, 
Yet,  'twas  not  wicked,  Charles,  'twas  natural. 
Go  seek  for  joy  mid  new  horizons  wide. 


21 

Forget  our  fancy.    Truly,  this  could  not  abide." 

So  Charles  grew  calm,  his  rashness  quite  forgiven, 

And  trod  the  homeward  way  full-stepped  and  nearer  heaven. 

But  groping  as  the  blind  the  homeward  path, 
The  maiden  slew  her  heart  in  deadly  grasp, 
And  kept  a  white  soul  by  the  grace  of  God, 
Nor  dreamed  less  things  the  greater  gift  denied. 
Strange  not  a  shudder  warned  the  glowing  boy 
Life  might  hold  less  than  treasuries  of  joy. 

A  hovering  silence  wrapt  the  gloaming  hill. 

O'er  humid  meadow  mourned  the  whip-poor-will. 

The  bittern  from  the  bog  boomed  bitter  cry, 

But  Crystal  heard  no  more  the  sylvan  melody. 

Ah,  never,  nevermore  is  quite  replaced 

A  first-love's  kiss,  and  nevermore  erased. 

Nay,  since  that  day,  she'd  counted  o'er  like  pearls 

The  precious  moments  she  had  spent  with  Charles. 

Strong  in  a  common  walk,  true  love  doth  cling; 

But  loving  one  like  Charles,  she  crowned  him  king — 

Is't  strange  those  tears  would  struggle  in  between 

The  starlight  and  the  fragrant  Isle-Called-Might-Have-Been? 

Sleep,  sweet  narcotic  to  her  restive  grief, 

Scarce  oped  an  honey-suckled  phial's  relief 

Before  the  countess  joyful  to  her  door 

A  new  and  tumbled  wealth  of  tidings  bore: 

"O,  Crystal,  wake!  A  message  comes  from  Kiel 

From  Charles — kind,  thoughtful  Charles — to  say  all's  well. 

His  little  barque  hath  braved  the  German  sea, 

And  skimmed  her  safe  athwart  the  ripping  gales. 

She's  whip-sawed  through  the  Scandinavian  straits, 

And  softly  luffing  breasteth  royal  Kiel, 

Where  twice  an  hundred  ships  at  anchor  wheel; 


22 

Straightway  the  imperial  course,  full-rigged,  they  spring 
Where  Wifhelm's  grand  regata  takes  full  swing. 

There  mighty  fleets  repose,  there  England  lifts 

Her  royal  standard  over  princely  gifts. 

Promise  of  peace  and  friendly  enterprise 

Their  festivals  promote.     Each  staunchly  tries, 

Wrung  from  an  host,  to  bring  a  trophy  home — 

Swede,  Russ  and  Dane,  whoever  else  may  come. 

May  all  craft  prove  ' cods-head  and  mackerel-tail' 

Against  our  scudding  yacht's  expanded  sail! 

Charles'  one  diversion  leans  to  love  of  sailing, 

As  to  the  foamy  cataract  the  grayling. 

What,  though  as  ballast  still,  a  king's  work  bear  some  weight, 

This  restful  cruise  I  pray  no  mission  may  abate. — 

But  hold!   That  messenger  outside  our  lintel  stands; 

Declares  he  bears  a  word  in  private  to  your  hands." 

"Strange!   Doth  to  me  a  message  bear"?    More  strange! 
Surely  'tis  not —  Bid  him  one  moment  wait — 
Knowest,  countess,  who's  the  messenger?" 

"A  friend, 

He  offered,  yet  I  trust  not  so.    Methought 
The  name  was  Niels  de  Rode." 
"De  Rode!   The  man's 

No  friend  of  mine.    I  will  not  see  him.    Tell  him  so — 
The  low  shagrag!     He  leers,  he  mocketh  me. 
Gossip  and  slander  be  his  daily  fare, 
The  wayside  brawl,  the  lorn  and  guilty  maid, 
And  all  that  stinketh — these  his  partial  theme. 
Of  honor  or  respect  hath  he  scant  gleam — 
Bid  Staugaard  out!   A  butler  may  receive  his  tale 
Howe'er  it  may  import — as  I  think,  vain,  unhale." 

"  *Tis  from  thy  sire,  he  said." 


23 

"So  then  the  worse! 

That  hints  of  influence  more  and  more  perverse. 
Unless  my  sire  be  ill  or  in  distress, 
Submit  I  not  to  vile  officiousness. 
Bid  Staugaard  say:    'Miss  Crystal  is  retired.' 
If  that  suffice  not,  add:    ' Averse  and  tired!'  " 

So  Niels  took  heel,  but  left  a  cursing  smile. 
He  strode  the  road  a  fuming,  hurried  mile. 
Spurred  up  of  wantonness,   'gainst  her  rebuff 
He  whined — he  cursed  her  keen  and  gruff. 
No  light  dismissal  this  to  Niels  de  Rode! 
His  letcher  toward  the  maid  had  long  abode. 

"Hell  prompt  me,  but  I'll  read  the  final  line 
On  this  out — thrust,  fair  Crystal  mine! 
O,  art  thou  high  ?  art  fond  and  noble  bred  ? 
Ye  spill  such  venom  on  an  humble  head? 
Thy  sire,  a  truckster,  blocks  the  market  place, 
While  thou  take  velvet,  gilt  and  dainty  lace? 
Imps  o'  the  soundless  pit,  lend  withering  fire, 
I'll  temper  tools  to  trim  thy  vengeance  dire." 

His  curse  dropped  low  beneath  the  linden  trees 
That  heeded  not  his  selfborn  extacies. 
Unscathed  and  slumber-logged  lay  Tappaneau, 
Nor  heard  the  chuckling  echo  of  his  vow. 
On  guard  stooped  down  the  soul  of  quietude 
Secure,  stern  sentinel  to  all  things  rude. 

War-hinting  stars  no  revelations  bore 

Of  evil  gliding  toward  a  lovely  shore. 

None  less,  in  savage  mood,  fierce  time  and  change 

Wove  mightier  curse,  more  violently  strange. 

Unhale  distemper  urged  her  fallacies  abroad, 

Till,  'neath  the  scourge,  mankind  forgot  e'en  God. 


24 

Far  'crost  the  huge  frontiers  at  festive  Kiel 

Slept  passions  bent  to  fetterlock  the  world  in  steel. 

Man,  thither  haste.    Behold  the  offing  packed 

With  sails,  by  gales  of  Schleswig  bent  and  slacked. 

Behold  yon  tilting  masts  that  forest  high 

Weave  in  their  stanchions  to  the  Baltic  lullaby. 

Behold  what  outpoured  hordes  have  ardor  lent 

To  blaze  the  German  lord's  accomplishment, 

Whose  Titan  labors  here  have  torn  earth's  barriers  wide 

That  deep  through  Elbe  to  bleak  North  sea  may  sweep 

The  Baltic  tide. 

Harsh  mid  the  craft  of  peace, 
At  hand,  begrizzled  cruisers  sullen  roll, 
As  Ursus  to  his  chains,  devoid  of  soul. 
Par,  wide  the  north  mid-summer  darkness  gored 
By  shafted  light — a  god's  tremendous  sword! 
Fleets  of  the  modern  time,  in  brittle  rest, 
Of  caverned  guns,  a  hundred  mast  at  least, 
Play  their  imposing  lamps,  leeward,  ashore, 
Where  pigmy  Northmen  plied  forgotten  oar. 

These  flashing  southward,  west  or  east 

Eeveal  gray  German  plains  in  somber  mist. 

Where  medeless  potencies  subdormant  lie 

Quick  to  the  drive  of  fate's  prophetic  day; 

Where  heterogenious  myriads,  as  the  sand, 

Heap  up  great  lust — the  pride  of  Fatherland. 

Thus  Holstein's  port  is  decked  for  festival, 

Thus  graced  by  will  and  presence  vast,  imperial ! 

And  midmost  in  the  huge  flotilla  proudly  swings 

His  somber  bark  Hohenzollern — ruler  of  Teuton  kings. 

To  raise,  as  'twere,  a  cross  to  mark  the  imperial  march, 
To  dedicate,  as  'twere,  a  vast  triumphal  arch, 


25 

To  buffet,  as  benign,  all  souls  with  mail-ed  hand, 

To  show  a  gaping  world  pure  strength  by  sea  and  land, 

So  blazed  the  broad  intent,  from  Tilsit  to  the  Rhine. 

Force  rioted  in  Kiel!   Let  power  shine! 

So  swelled  the  emperor's  thought,  was  't  then  unkind? 

Forgotten  common  justice  to  mankind? 

At  best,  too  blind  he  ruled  his  native  sod. 

At  worst,  forgot  he  ruled  a  trustee  under  God. 

Foolish  the  king,  hair-brained  the  emperor 

Who  reads  not  in  his  people's  will  true  power. 

Foolish  the  horde  low-bent  to  name  him  god — 

Lean  backs  do  tempt  the  knout ;  soft  courtiers  win  the  rod. 

Think,  man,  how  modern  science  ruleth  every  realm, 

Doth  all  the  girdled  seas  of  darkness  backward  whealm, 

Behold,  where  cradled  science  to  full  might  is  grown 

A  monarch  ruled  who  'd  not  apply  it  to  the  throne ! 

The  ship  of  state  might  yield  a  king  the  wheel; 

He'd  be  her  pilot  still — real  sovereignty,  his  people's  will. 

Nor  sultan,  president,  nor  king  nor  czar 

Advantage  hath,  once  grant  his  rule  be  fair. 

The  measure  of  them  all  strikes  like  a  bell 

When  under  God  they  rule  their  people  well. 

On  high  above  those  squadrons  christened  to  delight, 

Which  anchored  lay  that  eve  in  festive  Kiel, 

A  score  of  kings  their  banners  flung  to  air. 

The  mitred  czar,  beyond  Esthonia's  plains, 

There  shared  state  honors  with  the  crosses  of  St.  George, 

The  Crescent-Star,  the  brilliant  Stars  and  Bars 

Swung  by  the  royal  arms  of  Italy. 

Eager  were  all  the  hospitable  fete  to  share 

And  vie  content,  the  fairest  with  the  fair. 

Achievement  stood  the  watchword  of  the  day. 

Had  not  each  king  a  song,  a  chant,  a  roundelay 

To  charm  the  brimming  hour? 


26 

Listen,  my  friends, 

Dost  hear  the  thrilling  marches  play  ?    Dost  hear 
The  roll  of  drums?    Dost  breathe  excitement  in  the  air? 
Dost  see  the  proud  parades,  the  gallant  shoal 
Of  worshipers  before  fair  pleasure  kneel? 
Each  to  his  bent — scribe,  diplomat  and  lord — 
Each  to  his  royal  whim,  to  every  soul  a  word? 
What  there  befell — gentles,  rest  ye  content. 
Pray  we  'twill  serve  to  grace  a  further  argument. 


PART  II. 


THE  SHOCK 

Not  last  among  that  fleet  to  anchor  down, 

Swept  one  fair  bark  the  sapphire  hued  horizon.    Yea, 

And  royally  in  crimson,  black  and  gold  she  flung 

The  Belgian  banner  o'er  the  lilting  waves. 

Succeeding  days  the  brilliant  course  she  tried, 

Than  plumed  swan,  more  airily  she  flew. 

Tack  unto  tack  and  luff  to  luff  she  proved 

Sea-fit,  a  worthy  king's  competitor. 

Yet  he  who  captained  her  wore  anxious  frown, 
When  lovingly  he  hauled  her  good  flag  down, 
Trimmed  for  the  night,  cast  anchor  'gainst  the  swing 
Of  drifting  tide,  and  noted  far,  compelling  stir 
About  the  great  ship  of  the  emperor. 

An  entering  trophy  cheaply  won  disproved 

His  craft  at  fault,  wherefore  he  sighed  impatiently; 

Next  moment  drooped  more  lost  in  worried  thought, 

And  foreign  hurled  the  travail  of  his  mind. 

His  eye  once  narrowed  to  a  boat  that  plied 

The  ruddy  roadstead  to  his  vessel's  side, 

And,  throwing  off,  thereat,  oppression's  spell. 

His  glance  swept  eager  o'er  the  foamless  swell. 

" Ho!  boat  ahoy!   Ahoy,  Monet!   Aboard  with  thee," 

He  hailed. 

So  came  Monet  of  Hainaut  on  the  ship. 

"The  final  wink  of  time  I've  wasted,   Tappaneau, 
Prevailing  on  our  precious  Prussian  friends. 
There's  not  one  but  's  too  busy  'bout  the  emperor 


28 

To  crack  his  wine  with  us.     Oh,  blame  them  not, 
For  'tis  a  feat  most  mighty  they  accomplish  here ! 


"Yes,  'tis  mighty,  and  most  mightily  over  done, 
Which  in  the  doing  misses  all  the  point  for  which  begun!1 


"Indeed? 


». 


Have  ye  ne'er  seen  milady  of  the  court 
Dress  most  divinely,  to  the  finger  tips  in  flame, 
And  by  that  token  lose  the  prince's  eye, 
Which  to  secure  her  own  she'd  give  free-willed?" 

Grant  ye  'tis  overplayed!   Excess  is  not 
The  least  of  Prussian  sins.    Forgive  the  slip. 
Let  not  the  fault  be  ours.     Lock  liesure's  arm! 
Out!    Stroll  this  night  abroad  in  festive  Kiel. 
Blot  out  in  loveliness  thy  tasks  meanwhile." 

"A  fortnight  have  we  scud  the  monstrous  heave 
Of  green  and  spumy  billow  such  as  twitched 
The  heavy  North  sea  like  a  salten  purge, 
Thither,  past  the  Skaw  and  gray  Syr  Odde,  swift 
As,  white  the  albatross  doth  split  the  hollow  air. 
Anholt  was  naught,  and  Samso  Belt  a  calm  delight 
'Gainst  our  impatience  to  be  here  and  to  our  tasks. 

We've  sunk  three  days!    Calmed  idleness — sure  guilt — 

A-rigging  tow-lines  to  the  heels  of  time! 

Scant  profit  thus !    I  roam  an  hour  or  twain  ashore — 

Urge  not  of  roaming,  or  ye  hear  me  roar! 

Hast  seen  Herr  Weber  yet,  Monet?    Delay 

Is  like  a  dragging  anchor,  shock,  suspense, 

With  hungry  shoal  a-gnawing  at  the  foot!" 

"Charles,  were  this  not  a  pleasure  jaunt — and  all 
The  drums  a-rolling,  too — I'd  say  your  haste 


29 

Had  split  you  like  a  dart;  or,  better  say, 

Thee'd  swallowed  fulminate  and  like  to  rip 

To  half  a  billion  shreds.    Take  time !    Take  time ! 

"Let  me  report:  Herr  Weber  cometh  in  at  dawn. 
From  Heidelburg,  by  now  he's  wined  and  dined 
At  Bremen ;  unless,  by  chance,  some  one  has  warped 
The  woof  o'  my  report  of  him.    Woof!   Woof! 
Laugh!    Pretty  pun!    Are  we  not  here  for  sport?" 

"We'll  laugh  when  we  have  caught  the  drift  of  things. 
Already  have  I  seen  a  score  of  British  earls — 
Men  gray  in  statecraft — diplomats — what  not — 
Sun-smit  as  owls,  with  heads  that  ever  nod 
Toward  yon  tremendous  shipyards  by  which  boasts 
The  emperor.    I'd  sound  that  drift — " 


.. 


My  God! 

Shall  there  be  drifting  here  at  Kiel — at  Kiel! 
Then,  by  the  log,  we'll  foul.    Be  diplomats 
Half  thick  as  yachts,  we'll  wreck  the  unshriven  world!" 

"Why,  Kiel's  a  cormorant  stuffed  full  of  such  small  fry. 
Their  reeking  doth  enphosphorize  the  main, 
Till  ship-wreck  from  such  faulty  beacon's  like  to  roll 
The  fearest  statecraft  on  the  accurs-ed  shoal." 

"The  sunk  reef  lures  to  ocean's  caverned  bed? 
These  soft  waves  edge  the  Maelstrom's  savage  maw? 
Impossible!    St.  Elmo's  fire  ye  saw; 
For  where  such  crisscross  surf  to  crystal  sands 
That  bound  the  summer  Baltic's  borderlands?" 

"This  is  no  realm  of  peace  and  quietude, 

By  all  that  here  outpours!    'Tis  warlike,  rough,   'tis  rude! 

Behold  yon  gilded  cutter  weaving  in  and  out, 


30 

Ship  unto  ship.    All  glittering  and  gold  she  speeds. 
She  kicks  the  supine  Baltic  into  foamy  beads. 
Read  through  her  manifest — is  all  delight? 
Unheralded  events  shall  date  this  night! 

"No  mere  assignment  unto  place  and  rank; 

No  courtly  courtesy,  benign  and  frank, 

Yon  light  boat  bears.     She  calls  to  royal  court 

The  pilots  of  the  Powers.    Behind  the  gentle  sport 

Of  this  imperial  contest  group  the  wise, 

Keen  councellors  to  shape  a  huge  world's  enterprise. 


"Despite  wise  pilots  then,  each  light  ship  here's  a  ram! 
In  thy  sight,  stands  at  loggerheads  to  slay  and  damn!" 
"Yea,  vast,  unseasoned  envy  doth  enthrall  the  earth. 
Subvert  and  swoolen  passion  yields  unholiest  birth." 


. . 


A  rescue,  Ho!    'Tis  some  green-sickness,  mal  de  mere, 
Hath  set  thy  mental  fabric  out  of  gear! 
What  salient  ills,  I  may  not  bid  depart, 
Do  scourge  such  bleak  forbodings  through  thy  heart?" 

"Monet,  I've  seen  enough,  both  near  and  far, 
To  set  the  wicket  of  my  wits  ajar. 
Have  I  not  served  the  king  in  Tripoli, 
And  stood  on  Lule  Bruges  battlefield, 
When  Turkey's  flag  trailed  in  the  Bosporus? 

"I've  seen  chafed  chaos  o'er  the  Balkans  cast; 
Nor  storm-heaped  snows  to  Gothard's  crest 
May  breed  an  avalanche  so  rough  and  chill 
When  it  shall  fall. 

"Who  plumbs  yon  Slavic  will? 
Who  logs  the  Austrian  rage;  the  hopes  of  Italy? 
Who  charts  the  scalding  waves  that  lash  the  Adriatic  sea  ? 


31 

From  Helsingfors  to  Hellespont  all  Europe's  lyddite-mined 
And  primed  with  fulminate  to  flash  at  touch  of  king  or  hind.! 

"Woe  to  thy  mission  then!    A  fair  diplomacy 

Should  point  a  better  course  than  this  thou  show'dest  me. 

Diplomacy  should  smooth  the  troubled  deep, 

And  rock  its  midnight  passion  into  sleep." 

"Nay,  but  lewd  things  lie  gripped  'neath  smoothest  main. 

Yon  yieldy  kelp  the  ambushed  shark  doth  hide. 

An  ink-patch  doth  some  squalid  squid  enfold. 

The  wing-fish — taketh  he  the  air  for  sport? 

Some  dog-fin  doth  out-rudder  him  too  short. 

The  dumb  clam  spreads  his  hard-crustaceous  jaw 

To  suck  the  fish-roe  and  the  sand  flea  in — 

What  of  the  mighty  kraiken,  old  leviathan, 

The  stricture-throated  whale,  the  flippered  seal? — 

All,  all  do  prey — while  smiles  the  unruffled  sea. 

The  pure  white  gull  sweeps  o'er — Yea,  that's  diplomacy!" 

"Thou  hast  a  taste  for  thy  vocation,  Charles, 
Thus  analyzed  to  precious  elements." 

So  hath  the  garbage  man.     There's  profit  in't. 
If  I  may  serve  my  land — my  king,  I  will  not  stint. 
I  dare  not  quail,  halt,  pause  nor  temporize — 
Oh  land!    Oh  king!    The  worthiest  under  skies!" 

"Here's  to  the  Belgian  king,  Charles  Tappaneau: 

But  yield  some  key  to  thy  imagined  woe. 

Things  must  not  lie  past  hope.    Thou  dost  despond, 

The  rigors  of  our  voyage  thy  unused  strength  beyond. 

Have  you  no  faith  in  this  huge  enterprise? 

Horizons  bending  clear?    Yon  rainbow  in  the  skies? 

Never  the  tide  or  thought  so  gentle  and  a-beam, 

Leave  off — the  world  is  good.    Distemper  take  thy  dreams! 

What  is  it,  man,  that  doth  oppress  thee  so?: 


>  > 


32 

"Straight  to  the  bottom  o't  'tis  fairly  this: 
The  emperor  doth  bid  for  England's  friendliness. 
Now,  for  the  world's  immediate  good,  I  would 
'Twere  done,  nay,  open-hearted,  too.     Too  much 
Of  rival  hates  and  world-wide  policies 
Outstand,  where  each  some  pride  might  sacrifice. 

"God!   What  may  England  see  in  this  parade? 

Naught  but  a  shuddering  growth — mines  unto  terror  laid! 

So  pure  a  feat  of  arms  can  ne'er  be  hid  in  glee: 

The  war-god's  sword  plows  Baltic  to  the  German  sea. 

Ride  through  this  huge  canal  from  Kiel  to  Helgolandt. 

Thereby  a  lesson  learn  and  ponder  on't. 

Why,  every  ratline  reeved  and  strung  with  triumph  here 

Is  turned  a  signal  code  to  bid  old  England  'ware ! 

"Not  blindly  have  I  trod  those  Balkan  wastes, 

Nor  sat  the  divans  of  the  Golden  Horn. 

I've  heard  the  sound  of  death  in  Trebizond. 

I've  marked  the  fan-fire  of  auroras  gleam 

'Crost  dark-limed  tundras  north  of  Petrograd. 

Ah,  fool  that  saith  the  Norther  bear  doth  sleep 

In  hibernated  sloth.     Yea,  more  than  fool, 

If  one  through  Essen  passed  and  heard  no  gun 

That  boomed  dull-throated  'neath  those  furnace  blasts. 

"What  did  we  learn  at  Heidelburg,  Monet, 

Of  Weber,  master  o'  the  drill?     Shall  we  forget? 

O'er  Schwartzwald  wild  yon  huge,  black  eagles  take  to  air, 

Wheeling  their  bitter  cry.     Some  quarry  croucheth — Where? 

"Well,  calm  thee,  Charles,  and  smooth  thy  risen  hair. 
There  be  some  present  interest  we're  like  to  share. 
Call  up  some  smirk ;  some  diplomatic  masque ; 
Smile  in  the  grave  of  fear  and  on  thy  task! 
The  emperor's  cutter  comes  with  proud  'Ahoy', 
And,  though  we  have  it  not,  we  must  abound  in  joy." 


33 

"Lo,  from  the  anxious  midst  looms  joy,  indeed, 
A  truce  to  fretting  and  to  earth's  gaunt  greed. 
Behold  'tis  Carl  of  Baden  there,  Monet! 
Hail  him  aboard!    Yea,  and  his  cousin,  too. 
Comrades  of  Heidelburg,  and  old  days,  good  and  true! 

"Aboard,  aboard,  fat  Carl!    I'll  smite  thy  monstrous  back 

The  softest  buffet  it  has  known  these  years; 

An  ye  watch  me  not,  old  friend,  I'll  shed  a  shoal  of  tears. 

6 A  kiss  for  the  Burgundy  we've  drunk, 

A  smile  for  the  Rhenish  wine. 
And  a  sigh  for  the  sorrow  we  have  sunk 

In  the  flowing  cup  divine!' 

Come  men,  gi'e  us  thy  hands.    NACH  EIN  MAL! 
Sing  it  again." 

"Hold!    Hold!    My  dignity! 
I  had  a  mission  here,  can  I  think  on't: 
His  imperial  majesty,  the  emperor, 
To's  grace  Le  Compte  Tappaneau,  all  hail: 
His  majesity  doth  presently  desire 
Thy  personal  presence  and  good  will 
Aboard  the  imperial  yacht.   There,  to  receive, 
The  emperor  doth  wait  the  noblemen 
Of  his  and  many  royal  realms.     What  cheer 
And  comfort  majesty  may  add,  he  doth  extend 
To  bear  more  glory  to  the  present  festival. 
The  empress,  too,  doth  hold  informal  court 
To  noble  ladies  all — 

"I  must  confess,  by  wit  alone, 

The  latter  line  I've  added  to  the  summons  of  the  throne; 
Well  knowing  how  'twould  please  the  modest  ears 
Of  Tappaneau,  who  hath  not  looked  on  woman,  lo,  these  years !! 


34 

"And  were  his  ears  like  Balaam's  ass 

They  could  not  tingle  more, 
When  forced  to  greet  a  noble  lass 
By  Wilhelm's  cabin  door." 

"Monet,  I'll  smother  thee  for  that!     Aft,  fool! 
When  you  find  no  wine  to  drown  you  in, 
I'll  thread  you  like  a  needle  on  my  sword." 

"Thou'st  found  me  a  good  sower,  Tappaneau, 
E'en  to  my  compliments.     Wine!     Cordial! 
Pledge  we  must  have,  if  I  lift  the  anchor  up 
To  wring  an  iron  potion  from  its  toe." 

"Ach,  lieber  Carl,  how  stout  of  late  you've  grown, 
Who  wert  so  trim  in  thy  lieutenancy." 

"Trim!    Trim!    says  Tappaneau!    He  was  a  swine, 
O'er-stuffed — nay,  trussed,  with  occidental  maise — 
Th'  'mazement,  <Lo,  and  Thus  far!'  of  Old  Heidelburg!" 


. . 


My  cousin  was  a  blind  man  ever  to  my  form. 
You're  right,  Le  Compte.     I  have  grown  stout. 
My  liver  needs  campaigning  dreadfully. 
I  have  no  stomach  for  the  drill.     A  horse! 
God  save  the  huge-limbed,  Belgian  stud  I  strode! 
I'd  sway  his  back  for  him — while  hoots  the  clown: — 
' Behold,  our  war-steed,  Rain-Bow-Up-Side-Down'— 
Enough!   Monet  is  back  again;  up  to  the  eye 
In  Burgundy.    We  drink  and  then  we  fly! 
We  have  most  weighty  mission  still  ashore, 
To  meet  th'  imperial  trains  that  in  from  Bremen  roar. 

"I  haste,  thanks  thee,  imperial  majesty  to  view; 

But,  Carl  of  Baden,  take  Monet  with  you. 

Shake  every  wire  and  try  if  Weber  may  be  reached — " 


35 

"Three  days,  and  naught  but  'Weber!  Weber !'  hath  he  preached." 

"Just  possible  he  comes  by  Hamburg,  then, 
Joining  the  royal  party  from  Wien. 
The  ancient  Austrian  monarch  loved  him  well. 
Ere  now  they  should  be  passing  Tremsbuttel. " 

"Thanks,  Carl.     Suggested  thus,  we  try  a-new 
The  quest,  and  so  advance  our  heavy  tasks. 

"Monet,  a  word  with  thee.    Wire  mother,  home, 

To  say  all's  well.    We  win  an  entering  trophy  here; 

We  meet  the  emperor  tonight:  we  share 

The  bounty  of  th'  imperial  court;  we  greet 

Sweet  ladies  and  brave  princes  tall —  'Twill  please 

Dear  mother — all  those  little  things — and  yet, 

I  swear  I'd  change  this  tumult  joyfully; 

The  pomp,  the  glory  and  the  might — so  called — 

For  Arden  hills — a  day  with  Caroline  and  Crystal  Thurberwald." 

"For  thy  sweet  sister's  sake,  I'd  pledge  me  service  true. 
I  guess  what  lonely  third  she'd  make  to  'tother  two." 

"Monet,  I've  ne'er  spake  harsh  to  thee — but  now  be  warned! 

Insinuate  no  more  where  least  thou  art  concerned. 

Be  off  with  Carl,  who  grows  impatient  fast. 

Return  to  find  the  emperor's  fete  full  blast. 

At  lee-bows  seek  my  skiff  and  lusty  crew. 

All  speed!    Be  prompt,  and  so  farewell  to  you. 

"Ah,  Carl,  I'd  meet  thee  soon  in  Fair  Brabant. 
If  fickle  fortune  such  award  may  grant." 

So  boomed  the  evening  guns  far  'crost  the  limpid  strait; 
The  norward  twilight  hung  the  calm  west  roseate; 
While  many  a  light  boat  plied  beneath  that  gleam 
Bearing  its  noble  guests  the  emperor's  barque  a-beam. 


36 

Aboard  the  Hohenzollern  sweeps  my  lay. 
Forgive  me,  gentles,  thus  for  brevity: — 

(Watch) — "A  shout!  A  shout!   Methought  I  heard  a  shout!" 

(Mate) — "With  all  this  jostle  come  aboard,  ye  say: 

6 1  hear  a  shout?'  With  all  the  horns  of  heaven  here 
Side-splitting  to  the  emperor,  you  said: 
4 A  shout!'    Whereway?" 

(Watch)—  "To  wind'ard,  sire." 

(Mate) —  "Naught  near 

To  wind'ard.     So  belay  thee!    The  emperor, 
In  full  regalia  of  th'  imperial  navies,  stands 
But  ready  to  receive.    Still  come  the  nobles  up. 
Stand  to  thy  watch." 

(Watch) —  "Doubts  me  I  heard  a  shout. 

'Twas  the  round  baritone  of  some  far  distant  horn. 
Methought  the  wind  sighed  murder !  Something  like ! 
Some  brass-throat  newsboy's  shouting  on  the  quays. 
Far  hither  borne  to  tail  o'  wester  breeze!" 

(Tirpitz) — The  Austrian  party's  late,  your  majesty: 
Shall  we  presently  announce  thee,  sire?" 

(Emperor) — "Without  delay.   The  empire  knoweth  not  'delay!' 
If  Austria's  late,  be  sure  there's  reason  for  it, 
Our  ally  richly  pardoned  in  advance. 
Announce." 

i 

(Tirpitz) — "Hear  ye  most  noble!   Hear  ye  all! 

The  emperor  stands  in  presence.    Give  ye  heed." 


37 

(Emperor) — "Most  grateful  we  that  with  untardy  zeal, 
With  frank  acceptance  of  the  full  intent 
Of  our  design,  the  populous  world  outpours 
Her  best  to  do  us  grace  at  this  our  first 
Great  naval  fete.    Be  welcome. 

"Presence   here 

Of  many  noble  from  the  British  realm, 
So  noted  for  her  seamen  born,  her  craft, 
Her  navies  vast,  immeasureable,  doth  wake 
Our  special  pleasure.     To  masters  then, 
Whate'er  accomplishment  our  industry  has 

wrought, 
At  worth,  full-confidenced,  we  dare  present. 

"It  pleases  us  to  note  in  the  ensembled  throng 
A  score  of  embassies — not  least,  indeed, 
That  from  the  states  which  rule  the  occidental  world, 
Whose  banner  has  so  many  stars  and  bars. 

("Now,  not  to  name  ye  all,  though  meaning  all, 
Let  us  the  empire's  welcome  broad  extend. 
Propitious  skies  our  festivals  attend! 
Wide,  wide  the  port  of  ancient  Kiel  we  throw. 
Let  be  accord  among  the  powers  below — " 

(Voice  from 

the  stream)  — ' i  Ahoy !   The  emperor,  ahoy ! ' ' 

i 

(Emperor)—  "Who  hails?" 

* 

(Watch) — "The  port  bow,  sire.    A  boat  off  shore  hath  leapt 
As  lightning  through  the  night." 

(Emperor) —  "Speak  out  below." 

(Voice) — "Grand  Duke  Franz  Ferdinand  is  foully  slain!" 


38 

(Aboard)  — < '  Who 's  Ferdinand  ?  What  ?  Eegicide  ?  What  ?  Doom ! 
Calamity,  murder!  What?  Give  room!" 

(Emperor) — "The   light   of   Austria   thus   snuffed   out!     Who 

spreads 

This  tale  to  shock  our  festival?    Beware! 
Detail,  proof,  credentials — what  hast  thou? 

(Voice) — "'Tis  Carl  of  Baden  speaks.    Here,  sorrow  bowed, 
Stands  Weber  of  thy  staff.    He'd  come  aboard." 

(Emperor) — "Assist  him  ye — 

"Now  then,  unfold.     Forbear 

Thy  kneeling !    Straight  to  the  heart  of  this  unheard 
Calamity,  that  paints  the  gates  of  hell 
From  black  to  crimson,  growing  white  with  wrath." 

(Weber) — "O  sire,  the  heir  of  Austria  was  shot  to  death 
This  day  at  Serejevo  in  the  Bosnian  realm; 
And  by  the  selfsame  hand  his  lovely  consort  lies 
Disrupt  and  torn.    Both  Ferdinand  and  Princess 

Hoenberg, 
In  doom  unmerited  and  premature,  lie  still." 

(Emperor) — "Oh  end  most  pitiful,  and  to  what  end?" 

(Weber) — "We  fear  those  wide  pan-Slavic  cults  have  hurled 
A  red  and  clanging  gauntlet  to  the  world; 
While,  after,  sullen  peoples  of  the  czar 
Obliterate  sane  government  by  callous  war." 

(Emperor) — "And  doth  the  Russ  bear  thus  hatch  us  a  serpent's 

egg! 

Ah,  none  may  know  as  I,  who  nigh  his  cave 
Have  picket  kept,  lo,  these  two  thousand  years! 


39 

Friends!    Friends!    Th'  unhallowed  thing  is  done; 

and  naught, 
Naught  save  'tis  done  we  know.    'Tis  grief  enough. 

"We  must  to  Potsdam  straight  to  set  our  state 
In  solemn  mourning  for  these  honored  dead; 
And  after,  in  what  needs  arise,  turn  us  to  God — 
The  God  of  crises  and  decline,  or  hope  and  woes, 
Whither  our  fates  repose. 

"Here  then,  at  need, 

We  delegate  Von  Tirpitz  to  our  vacant  seat 
To  hold  most  grave  review  to  our  grand  fleet; 
To  all  contestants  here  do  solemn  honor  still, 
As  by  this  deed  imposed.  Adieu.  It  is  our  will. 

"Ho,  Carl  of  Baden,  help  me  down.    Lend  me  thy 

hand. 

The  night  can  ne'er  be  dark  enough  to  hide 
The  wrath  that  like  a  flaming  arrow  smites  our 

fatherland." 

(Weber) — "Ah,  Charles  of  Tappaneau,  I  have  they  messages. 
Just  as  this  blazing  mine  was  fused  they  came. 
Thou  dost  conceive  a  breach  about  to  rend 
'Twixt  Britain  and  our  mighty  German  lord. 
'Tis  old.     Long  have  we  ridden  neck  and  neck 
The  heated  race  of  armaments.     Enough, 
Doomsday  is  struck!    Each  to  his  own.    I  serve 
The  emperor  and  ye  the  Belgian  king, 
Our  duty,  each  to  each,  bars  loitering. 
We  have  been  lifelong  friends.    Waste  not  an  hour. 
Home  with  thee,  home !    Yon  center-blast  is  blown ; 
But  whither  't  radiates,  God  knows  alone." 


40 

(Tappaneau 

aside) — "From  Helgolaridt  to  Hellespont  afar, 
From  Tilsit  to  the  Seine,  nay  overmore, 
From  White  sea  to  the  farthest  tip  of  Sicily, 
Nor  land,  nor  home,  nor  hope  shall  safety  know 
Forevermore.     The  couchant  fire   's  abroad; 
Greed's  arrogant  suspicion,  nay  distrust, 
Cursed  babel  of  the  foreign  tongue,  and  racial  hate 
Will  do  the  rest.    This  day  most  ominous 
Oppressed  me  as  by  weight  of  centuries — 
What  huge  foreshadowing  of  ill!    Yea,  home — 
That  shall  not  long  be  home — will  I. 

"Monet" 
(Tirpitz) — uVon  Weber,  how  readst  thou  the  emperor's  face?" 

(Weber) — His  face  I  saw  not,  yet  his  altered  voice 
Gave  threat." 

(Tirpitz) —  "  'Twas  like  some  bugle  at  retreat 

That  sudden  to  assembly  blares  its  peal 
At  midst  a  mighty  cannon  shot  and  crash  of  steel — 
So  changed  his  countenance.     Divine  ye,  now  he's 

(gone- 
Harsh  fates  have  thrown?    Gruff  war-dogs  bay  the 

(storming  Rubicon  ? ' ' 

(Tappaneau) — "  'Long  side,  Monet.    I  would  come  down,  then 

(home, 
As  lightning  leaps  the  frets  of  Jura's  comb. 

"Where  liest  thou,  O  country  of  my  heart? 
What  battleing  flood  or  hurricane  's  thy  part? 
Far  east  but  westward  rolls  yon  savage  mill — 
There,  fated  land,  thou  li'st  'twixt  up  and  nether  ill, 
There  burring  passions  blend  hate's  monstrous  will. 
When  adamant  thou  stand 'st  not  'gainst  that  crush, 
Oblivion  cover  thee,  dishonor  hush." 


PART  II  I. 


QUI-VIVE 

Ah,  gentles  kind,  most  patiently  thus  far 
Ye  watch  my  muse's  meteoric  star. 

Let  Charles  of  Tappaneau  take  thunder-voiced  trains. 
Past  Bremen  sweep  the  dim  Westphalian  plains; 
Wakeful  to  plunge  the  vale  of  castled  Rhine 
To  hail  Cologne  ere  morning  star  may  shine. 

There  meets  he  Caroline  from  Luxemburg  aroused, 
Anxious  and  pale  and  brave,  the  girl  so  gently  housed, 
Her  noble  blood  afount  to  breast  emergency, 
Stirred  by  the  modern's  wonderous,  fleet- winged  Mercury. 

She  drave  her  car  that  heavy  midnight  hour 
Wild  Coblenz  steeps  alone,  from  Moselle's  bluff 
To  sharp  defiles  of  Ehine  that  hinter-lock  Cologne; 
Till,  roused  to  stupid  wonder,  the  drowsy  watchmen  peered, 
On  the  dash  and  thrip  of  her  throttle,  at  the  precipice  she  cleared. 
And  they  groaned  for  the  fools  that  crash  the  midnight-sullen 

(Rhine, 
Or  smiled  intent  as  they  caught  the  flash  of  a  lassie's  face  divine. 

She  sped  to  give  the  travellers  her  eager,  soulful  urge, 
Ere  paths  of  ruthless  empire  and  more  fair  renoun  diverge ; 
Ere  those  tolling  tides  of  hatred  swept  in  high  and  left  no  trace 
Of  a  sturdy  rock  called  Honor  to  the  wielders  of  the  mace. 

So  met  she  Charles  at  old  Cologne,  whence  in  wordless  haste 

(they  sped, 
Like  a  hurried  shadow  flitting  through  the  city  of  the  dead. 


42 

Then  they  clutched  at  rolling  distance,  with  flare  of  lamp  and 

(horn. 

They  mocked  at  mountain  mists,  the  limp  fog-wraiths  out-scorn. 
They  skimmed  the  beaten  highway  more  fleet  than  fallow  deer ; 
Ahead  Aix-la-Chapelle — gate  of  the  gray  frontier. 
They  leapt  the  strong  arched  Meuse  'twixt  fortresses  of  Liege; 
Unchecked  swept  through  Namur  at  Arden  forest's  edge, 
And  when  the  peering  dawn  set  Hisbaye  aglow, 
Before  them  rose  the  homeward  towers  of  Tappaneau. 

But  pause  thou  there,  O  kindly  friends  of  man; 
A  cycle  of  events  one  fleeting  moment  scan: — 
Long  ages  since,  from  a  region  dim  with  time, 
A  land  whose  foot  did  lave  the  broad  Euxine, 
Far  opposite  the  Hellespont — the  Golden  Horn — 
Came  forth  the  Crimri,  root  and  branch,  and  left 
A  name — Crimea — to  mark  their  native  cradling. 

Thence  westward,  far  along  the  huge  Karpathians, 
Mayhap,  the  tempting  waters  of  the  blue  Danube, 
By  scores  of  thousands,  conquering,  they  rolled, 
Forcing  the  Iron  Gate  or  mountain  files  of  Hungary, 
Retiring  swift  before  devouring  Scythians, 
And  Huns,  warring  the  western  tribes  as  bitterly, 
Thus  to  a  land  that  checks  the  northern  ocean's  roar, 
To  Belgium  came  its  strange  forebears — a  people  strong 
With  conquest,  alert  against  oppression  and  design. 

Countless  their  wars  with  Rome,  with  Teuton  or  with  Celt, 

Till  not  a  stream  nor  fount  in  all  the  land 

But  had  its  tide  in  crimson  blood  outpoured, 

Marking  a  thankless  battlefield.    No  strife 

Of  Europe  but  had  left  its  scar,  its  blight 

On  Belgians  sons.    So  to  the  end  it  seems! 

In  latter  days,  when  France  and  England  raised 
The  palsied  arm  of  Islaam  'gainst  the  Slav, 


43 

And  on  this  same  Crimea  overthrew 
The  last  great  militant  Czar,  and  broke  his  heart, 
Of  war  they  grew  too  soon  a-weary  and  left  the  root 
Of  discord  thriving  still. 

The  stubborn  Slav 

Would  ever  more  advance.    And  nigh  at  hand 
To  curb  him  lay  the  Prussian  realm  and  Austria. 
These  in  that  task  waxed  mighty  past  all  words. 
And,  lo,  the  Slav  grew  sullen  day  by  day 
Till  every  act,  if  fair  or  firm,was  scorned; 
Till  even  Bosnia,  she  that  blossomed  like  a  flower 
Beneath  the  Austrian  yoke,  was  none  the  less 
A  wilful  wind-flower  at  the  best,  a  thorn 
And  torment  to  the  crown. 

Ah,  mystery 

Of  blood,  of  racial  ties,  that  mocks  all  law 
Save  that  primeval  bond;    That  doth  persist 
Despite  all  reason,  hope  or  force — doth  call 
The  monarch  from  the  pinnacle,  the  slave 
From  pit  of  mire,  the  felon  from  the  mine. 

Lo,  'tis  a  brand  of  hate  that  striketh  out, 
That  striketh  in,  that  sacrificeth  hearth  and  kin. 
Despite  our  light,  our  law,  our  Christ  of  God, 
This  primal  thing  doth  rule  the  destiny  of  man — 
If  to  oblivion,  still  'twill  rule,  nor  die  with  death. 

So  in  the  Bosnian  realm  outburst  the  flame 
That  flared  its  tocsin  huge  to  signal  all 
The  powers  to  crimson  battle — Slav  and  Turk, 
Celt,  Roman,  Teuton,  main  and  islander, 
Harsh  interlocked  in  conflict  unto  death. 
While  in  it  all,  and  through  it  all,  indeed, 
And  after  all,  who  points  in  certainty 


44 

And  saith  to  anyone,  "All  blame  to  thee?" 

Yet  of  the  modes  of  war,  its  perfidies, 

The  shocked  world  knoweth  where  dishonor  lies. 

Outcrops  an  infinite  philosophy — 

No  tyrant's  whim,  nor  angry  despot's  mace; 

No  petty  discord,  nor  ambition's  vaunt, 

Doth  furnish  key  to  that  which  seemed  a  tomb. 

Time  coins  a  greater  word  to  speak  of  it  than  doom. 

Trust,  friends,  e'en  from  that  angry  crucible  shall  burn  the  dross 

To  free  at  last  far  purer  gold  to  compensate  the  loss. 

But  of  that  ultimate  how  far  thought  Tappaneau 
Before  whose  vision  loomed  impending  overthrow. 
What  but  the  spur  of  need  impelled  him  to  his  gate, 
By  naught  save  love  of  home  his  being  actaute?" 

Thus  dust-lain,  scarred  and  grim  the  great  car  reeled 
Into  the  homeland  lanes  which  morningtide  revealed. 

"Mother,  mother!  Wake  thee ,"  he  cried,  while  slumberous  halls 

Eeverberated.     "Wake  thee  gentle  mother,  Home, 

Home  am  I,  as  fledgling  tired  of  wing; 

As  eagle  that  too  heavy  burden  bears. 

Haste !  I  must  here  provide,  then  seek  the  king 

Where  duty  grave  forbids  all  loitering." 

Struck  white  with  dread,  the  trembling  countess  came 

To  hide  her  face  upon  his  breast,  while  tears 

Both  fright  and  comfort  told,  but  checked  her  fears 

At  sight  of  Caroline — sweet,  tired  maid. 

Then,  like  a  flash  of  sunshine,  o'er  the  banisters 
Peered  Crystal  Thurberwald. 

When  Charles  beheld, 
The  world  lost  half  its  shade.    His  heart  burst  wide 


45 

The  gloom  that  'pressed  it,  'neath  her  glorious  smile, 

And  yet,  youth's  mischief  in  him  did  measure  her  the  while. 


"Ho!  Ho!  Baretoes!  Hast  guarded  mother  well? 
Come  down  we'll  have  thy  strict  accounting." 


Off 

She  scampered  with  a  laugh  like  silver  sweet. 
Baretoes,  indeed! 

Then  up  ran  Caroline, 
While  quick  their  merriment  aroused  the  halls. 

The  while,  Charles  to  the  countess  brief  retold 
The  swift  events.   "The  Duke  of  Austria's  slain, 
And  woe  it  breeds  to  Europe  none  denies ! 
Pale  dread — lean  dragon — drave  me  home." 

"Was  slain? 
By  whom?" 

"One  Princep — student — rumor  saith; 
Now,  if  it  prove  a  wild  fanatic's  deed, 
All  yet  may  mend.    Suspicion  hints  afar 
Already.     None  may  paint  the  all-consuming  rage 
Of  Austria,  should  this  deed  lodge  an  ell 
Beyond  the  Danube.    Then,  God  save  us  all! 
A  brace  of  empires  wait  such  battle-call. 

"Vast  need  of  wisdom  grips  the  Serbian  realms. 

Mere  innocence  one  breath  doth  over-whelm. 

While  Austria  wails,  like  children  o'  the  market  place, 

Will  Serbia  lament?     The  Slav  lament 

For  Austria?    The  Balkan  lamb  bewail 

The  thorn  which  smarts  the  Scythian  tiger's  whelp? 

Not  so  dreampt  I  in  far  Albania, 

Nigh  which  that  tawn  dam  stalks  these  troubled  years." 


46 

"Such  storm  should  burst  far,  far  afield;  so,  why 
Thy  deep  concern,  thy  grave  anxiety? 
This  Bosnia  lieth  so  remote.    Are  we 
Not  insulate  against  its  woes?" 

"But  woe 

Is  swift  entailed,  if  once  the  turmoil  spread, 
And  impulse  mighty  doth  abet  such  clash. 
The  'Call  o'  th'  East'  's  oft  turned  a  siren  call- 
Deceit  and  hidden  doom!   Lo,  from  the  rocks 
Yon  dulcet,  luring  cry: — 'Ho!  Austria? 
Salonika.    Ho,  Italy?'  Thy  Trieste. 
Ho,  Russia?  Thine  the  Golden  Horn,  the  far 
Caucasus  and  the  Persian  Gulf!' 
Shrewd  England  sweeps  o'er  half  the  Orient. 
France  jostles  on  toward  Tripoli.    Not  least 
Of  all  the  scramble  waits  the  Prussian  realm 
To  swallow  up,  without  a  twinge  of  heart, 
The  Sultan  and  the  Islaamitish  hordes. 

"When  roars  'flamed  Austria,  at  lenth:    'Behold 
We  punish  thee  (Chance  be  at  Belgrade  strikes), 
Will  Russia  say,  'Forbear!'  and  Germany, 
'Hands  off?'    Says  France,  'My  interests  I  serve.' 
Says  England,  'Lo,  those  mighty  armaments! 
Then,  Italy.  'My  ancient  provinces 
Lie  unredeemed.     Honor  my  faith  with  these!' 

"No  threats  nor  attitudes  may  check  such  strife. 

Thus,  regicide  outweighs  mere  slaughter!    Strike 

The  prince  of  empire  and  her  heart  is  pierced ! 

Nay,  utterly  beyond  all  healing,  slain. 

How  oft,  how  oft  far  lesser  spark  out-rolled 

On  war's  Vesuvian  crest  the  shuddering  quake's  foretold!" 

"My  son,  ye  roll  a  dreadful  portraiture!" 


47 

"Nay,  'tis  not  sharp  enough  in  any  line. 

Suspicion  hath  no  vivid  lines ;  distrust, 

No  point  of  vanishment;  nor  hate  a  sky. 

Sedition  hangs,  a  bestial  tapestry, 

And  fear's  a  cloister  vault.    I  do  not  paint! 

I  see.    I  scan  horizons  I  have  learned  too  well, 

Where  world-ambitions  lead  to  bitterest  hell!" 

"Oh,  oh!  and  what  of  Belgium,  then?" 

"My   dear, 

There  lieth  it !  Yon  flaunt  of  arms  at  Kiel 
Bars  smallest  hope  of  concord  'twixt  Berlin 
And  mighty  Thames." 

"So  what  is  eastern  born 
Doth  suckle  on  the  west?" 

"True  were  we  blind! 
What  shutting  of  the  eye  bars  danger  out  ? 
We're  thrust,  the  buffer  state,  'twixt  east  and  west — 
May  take  the  shock  despite  all  promises. 
This  have  we  sensed  for  years  by  our  defence. 
Thus,  to  my  own  with  early  speed  I  fly 
To  make  some  head  'gainst  bleak  fatality." 

Charles'  burden  told,  the  countess  found  new  poise, 
As  one  before  a  great  task  rises  great, 
Who  sets  her  soul  to  guard  her  heart's  good  cause, 
And  calls  to  instant  parley  all  her  love. 

"O  girls!    O  Caroline  and  Crystal  mine, 

Come  haste  and  quiet  thee.     Thy  merriment 

But  now  doth  jar,  as  laughter  cuts  the  heart 

With  trouble  agonized.     Come  list  to  Charles 

Whose  time  runs  short — too  short  for  crowding  deeds 

By  which  we  fortify  our  future's  needs." 


48 

With  that,  came  Caroline  and  Crystal  down 
Subdued  of  mirth  by  the  anxious  faces  all, 
Engaged  the  sober  councils  in  the  hall. 

"For  cause  most  imminent,"  urged  Charles,  "convert 

All  stores  and  movables  of  the  estates, 

The  full  explees  of  meadow  and  of  field, 

To  ready  gold.     The  ivories  rich  that  come 

From  Congo,  sell  them  all.    Of  valued  woods, 

The  camphor  and  the  spice,  hold  nothing  back. 

Put  all  the  woolens  on  the  block  that  lie 

In  Antwerp  town;  and,  over  all,  export 

The  stores  of  wine,  as  ye  would  save  your  lives — 

Wine  to  a  foe  is  sharper  than  a  sword 

Whose  backward  edge  cuts  deeper  than  the  soul. 

And,  mother,  all  these  details  fall  to  thee. 

When  all  is  done  bar  up  the  castle  gates, 

Take  Caroline  and  Crystal  over  seas. 

Home  is  not  home,  nor  safe  in  hours  like  these. 

There  shall  ye  live  secure  till  sullen  war 

Make  echo  on  oblivion  afar; 

Till  in  a  new,  more  honored  day  of  peace, 

To  thy  content  love's  joy  shall  lend  increase. 

Now  speed  Monet  and  I  to  join  the  king 

Where'er  true  duty  shall  find  conquering." 

"Not  so!"  the  countess  cried.    "Shall  it  be  said 

That  I,  a  daughter  of  Brabant — where  bled 

Her  thousands  brave — that  I  fled  over  seas 

Because  the  war  cry  echoed  through  my  native  trees? 

Here  is  my  home  and  here,  indeed,  I  die;  . 

If  by  the  sword,  without  complaining  cry. 

But  to  the  turn  of  need,  set  thou  our  gold 

To  Belgium's  call,  as  did  thy  sires  of  old. 

Ask  not  thy  mother,  in  her  silvered  age, 

To  make  such  far  and  bitter  pilgrimage." 


49 


"Aye,  plenty  may  we  do!"  cried  Caroline. 

"I  have  not  idled  all  in  Luxemburg. 

Why,  I  can  bind  up  wounds  and  bear  the  cross 

Of  mercy  on  the  battlefield.    There  let 

Me  serve.    I  know  a  lady  sweet  in  Brussels  town. 

She  shall  perfect  me  straight  in  all  that  needs 

Perfecting." 

" Faith  'tis  not  o'er  much,"  engaged 
Monet,  the  while  a  laugh  went  round. 

Downcast 

And  humble  mid  the  rush  of  high  resolves 
Stood  Crystal  Thurberwald,  and  stealing  tears 
Hung  on  the  lashes  of  her  lovely  eyes — 
She  plead  no  noble  gifts  to  sacrifice; 
Whose  heart  was  surging  with  unwonted  fires; 
Whose  soul  knew  well  the  conqueror's  desires; 
Whose  being  was  to  service  consecrate; 
Whose  condemnation  was  that  she  must  wait 
While   others   took   the   foresweep   of   events 
And  toward  fame's  highlands  pitched  their  bannered  tents. 

Quick  to  discern  and  to  devine  the  pain, 
Sprang  Charles  of  Tappaneau  to  comfort  her. 

"Too  vividly  I  draw  th'  o 'ershadowing  ill. 

All  stands  eventual  at  worst.    Mayhap 

Not  one  of  us  need  dread  misfortune's  turn. 

Aye,  should  the  eventual  end  in  stern  event, 

Who  then  may  dream  what  valiant  part  's  assigned 

To  thee?     Great  conquerors  oft  times  have  prayed 

For  half  the  fame  that  crowns  a  lowly  maid. 


it. 


We  love  thee,  Crystal — all  of  us  the  same, 
And  you  shall  share  our  deeds  or  sacrifice, 
Or  honor,  should  we  gain  such  worthy  prize. 


50 

"Ah,  Crystal,"  urged  the  countess,  "not  in  vain 
Are  all  the  naive,  sweet  comforts  you  have  brought 
To  this  gray  schloss.     Dear  child,  be  ours  the  loss, 
If  by  one  thoughtless  word  we  let  thee  grieve." 

A  gentle  word  had  Caroline,  likewise 
Monet,  and  Crystal  felt  the  genuine 
Of  tender  hearts  and  so  was  comforted. 

While  yet  the  dew  of  tears  hung  in  her  eyes, 
Where  gaining  confidence  made  gentle  dawn, 
Uprose  resounding  clamour  in  the  court 
And  hall;  the  thunder  of  determined  staff 
Through  arch  and  vestibule;  and,  bursting  past 
The  light  protest  of  courteous  guard  or  groom, 
A  form  gigantic  crashed  into  the  room. 
Disheveled,  misarrayed,  but  unappalled, 
Before  them  strode  gaunt  Halmar  Thurberwald; 
Unbowed  by  seventy  years  of  mighty  toil, 
Stern  as  the  cliffs  and  stubborn  as  the  soil. 

"I  seek  my  daughter.     Be  she  mine,  or  no?" 

He  drummed,  defiant,  striding  to  and  fro. 

"Ah!   Thou!   Art  thou  too  vain  to  heed  me  more? 

Too  lofted  with  infernal  wine  of  caste 

To  hear  my  call  ?    Must  thou  wear  cap  and  bells 

To  some  sleek  lord,  while  all  the  town's  a-clack 

With  thee?    Thou?    Answer  me." 

She  could  but  gasp: — 

"Oh,  father,  father,  dear!"  and  chill  hands  clasp. 
Pale  unto  snow  or  lily  o'  the  vale. 

"Aye,  father,  father  me!"  in  rage  he  plied. 
"Forget  it  not!  Forget  it  not!  Thou 'rt  just 
A  burgher's  daughter!  A  burgher's  daughter,  just! 


51 

And  low — not  high.    Nay,  so  I  christened  thee 
A  lowly  dewdrop  of  the  lowly  ground. 
I've  let  thee  sparkle  here  too  long —  Forgive 
Me  God!     Thou  canst  not  coin  a  ruby  of 
The  dew,  nor  with  it  grace  a  diadem. 
Come  with  me  home.    Thou  are  an  age  when  I 
Should  plan  thy  futures  for  thee,  forgetting  not 
Thou  'rt  born  a  burgher's  daughter." 

"Oh,   forbear 

Thy  chiding,"  Crystal  plead  in  pale  despair. 
"I  am  not  like  to  so  forget.    I'll  go 
With  thee  beyond  earth's  bound — Oh,  anywhere — 
So  thou  remember  still  thou  art  my  sire; 
Nor  blast  me  with  so  little  cause." 

"Hell!    Fire! 

No  cause?     Sent  I  not  for  thee  yesternight 
By  Niels  de  Rode?    And  thou — obedient — 
Came  quickly  home?    Gave  no  rebuff  to  one 
That  I  have  looked  with  kindly  favor  on? — " 

A  surging  tide  of  haunting,  bitter  shame 
Assailed  the  maid  and  strake  her  cheeks  aflame. 
Her  strictured  heart  quick  brought  her  breath  agasp, 
A  frozen  anger  locked  her  finger's  clasp. 

"With  favor  on?   That  spy — "  for  words  she  groped — 
"To  speak  that  name  is  traitor  to  thy  child. 
Oh  you—" 

She  choked  and  failed. 

Quick  to  her  side 
The  countess  came.     . 

"Oh  say  it  not,  heed  not, 
My  child,"  she  said.    "He  is  so  old  and  frail 
Despite  his  mighty  hands,  his  limbs  of  steel. 
Behold,  we  take  it  not  to  heart.    He's  duped 


52 

And  much  o'er-wrought.    Yet  is  he  still  thy  sire, 
Still  deep  within  thou  art  his  one  desire." 

And  then  discerning  Charles  spoke  sharp  command, 
Such  as  the  captain  speaks  in  battle-burst: — 
"Attention!  Thurberwald!  About  thee.  March. 
At  post,  sir.    Halt!    Now  then,  report  to  me." 

Right  well,  indeed,  the  wily  noble  knew 
He  faced  a  soldier  trained  and  service-true. 
The  old  man  raised  the  burden  of  his  years 
To  take  the  pose  so  apt  of  grenadiers; 
Squared  his  gaunt  shoulders,  raised  his  hand 
To  touch,  invisible,  a  vanished  visor's  band. 

Grave  Charles  replied;  declared  approvingly: — 
"So  stood  a  king's  true  soldier,  in  his  day." 

"And  well  do  I  remember  him  these  years," 
The  countess  smiled.    "A  sergeant  of  the  line! 
Ne'er  had  I  seen  a  man  so  huge  and  fine. 
Tall  as  the  Hall  of  Justice's  tower  to  me 
He  seemed —  A  wee  thing  I,  at  mother's  knee. 

"Oh,  Thurberwald,  dost  mind,  my  sire  and  thou 
Out  of  the  cistern  lifted  up  the  cow  9" 

"I  mind  that  thou  didst  bawl  most  mightily." 

"Ah,  that  I  did.    She  was  my  pet,  my  sweet 
Brown  Bess. 

"O  sir,  time  hurries  fleet. 
Today  am  I  as  gray  as  thou.    Come,  sire. 
We  must  not  let  our  old  fidelity  expire." 

"I'm  but  a  poor  old  man  too  much  alone 
Behind  yon  Roman  wall.     Ah,  Crystal  child, 


53 

I  am  thy  father  still  though  anger  wild. 
Come  take  me  home.    I'm  tired — too  tired  today  1 
My  eyes  too  full  of  tears  to  see  the  way." 
He  turned  to  totter  forth. 

"Wait,    Thurberwald," 

Said  Charles.    "Not  vainly  thus  have  I  recalled 
Thy  better  days.    The  soldier's  vantage  comes; 
The  martial  shout ;  the  rallying  roll  of  drums. 
Abroad  brusque  danger  stalks  to  leer; 
To  spy  the  coward  heart  that  lurks  in  fear. 
With  youth,  unto  the  mightiest  cause  of  earth, 
To  serve  the  king,  Monet  and  I  speed  forth. 
This  aged  schloss  need  yet  one  vigilant  guard; 
One  fist  with  ancient  service  mailed  and  doubly  hard. 

"Through  threatening  days,  or  through  eventual  raid, 
To  guard  our  gates  take  thou  thy  rugged  blade. 
The  countess  purposeth  to  here  outstand 
What  evils  e'er  be  compassing  the  land. 

"Yon  sword  of  Godfrey  sweep  less  sharp  than  mine," 
Vowed  stern  the  grizzled  soldier  of  the  line. 

In  ancient  form,  in  quaint  solemnity 

Low  to  the  ground  he  brought  a  reverent  knee. 

"Be  up,"  said  Charles.    "Be  prompt,  discrete  and  wise. 

We  have  no  dear  ones  here  that  we  may  sacrifice. 

Here  may  thou  nearer  guard  thy  Crystal's  feet; 

And  she  thy  heart  by  ministrations  sweet. 

Wate'er  these  tales  that  languish  to  and  fro, 

Let  them  be  withered  in  the  oath  of  Tappaneau. 


. . 


Monet,  we  loiter — Staugaard,  the  castle's  car. 
Mother,  we  quick  return.    We  go  not  far. 
Now,  Caroline,  speed  thee  to  Luxemburg. 


54 

To  keep  close  touch  with  us  thy  duchess  urge — 
Home  like  the  dove  should  danger  there  emerge. 
Ah,  Crystal,  dear,  I  leave  no  charge  to  thee, 
Save  to  thine  own  sweet  heart  be  true. 
I  know  time  finds  thy  valiant  deeds  for  you." 

Then,  yearning,  Crystal  longed  for  his  command 
While  silently  she  gave  a  faltering  hand; 
And,  yawning  wide,  gray  earth  became  a  shell 
And  void,  as  mute  lips  spake  inaudible  farewell. 

Swift  o'er  the  dewy  downs  of  Waterloo 

The  men  sought  Brussels  town  whose  gleaming  towers 

The  early  sun  outvied.    The  thoroughfares 

Were  live  with  blithesome  throngs,  the  marts  athrob 

With  trade:  while  all  the  mills  of  industry 

" Hummed  merrily  the  varied  song  of  peace." 

In  all  the  way  there  was  perhaps  but  one 
Who  prowled  and  nursed  a  deadly  gloom;  and  he 
From  thorny  thickets  scowled  invisibly. 
But  when  they  reached  the  mighty  esplanade 
That  girds  the  ponderous  justice  tower  they  sensed 
A  stern  and  ominous  calm,  the  warm  air  tensed 
As  some  say  doth  the  earthquake  shock  forebode. 

In  breathless  groups  along  the  colonades 

Stood  court  officials  military  chiefs, 

Subalterns,  guards — what  not — in  anxious  mien, 

While  present  peered  the  future's  mighty  bars  between. 

Within  the  vast  rotunda  stood  the  king, 

Forbearing  all  the  usual  forms  of  state 

To  gain  more  prompt  and  definite  a  grasp 

On  Austria's  cataclysmic  woe;  to  judge 

How  wide  the  swift  concentric  heave  might  sweep 


55 

The  plains  of  Europe  with  its  tidal  wave 
Of  ruptured  seas. 

Crime's  nine  days'  wonder  done 
Would  all  subside?     Or  did  this  royal  blood 
Presage  the  bursting  winepress  of  such  wrath 
That  only  chill  and  isolated  crests 
Might  top  the  flood — lone  Gothards  o'er  the  clouds! 

So  as  in  every  capital,  stood  the  king 

Strong  in  his  youthful  fire,  while  round  him  grouped 

His  generals  and  ministers  of  state. 

Thereto  came  Tappaneau  as  one  on  wings 

From  Kiel,  and  not  a  dignitary  there 

But  moved  a  nearer  step. 

"Ah,  Charles,  so  soon?" 

Greeted  the  King.     "I've  sent  prime  messages 
A  score  to  urge  thee  home  who  needed  none. 
What  is  the  word  from  Kiel?    How  stands  it  there?" 

"The  emperor  to  Potsdam's  gone;  his  brow 

To  thunder  clouded  o'er.    The  guests  of  state 

Disperse  like  chaff  before  the  fan.     The  vast 

Regatta  goeth  lamely  through  as  though 

Heaven's  wind  were  dead.    Dread  lurketh  everywhere 

White  faced.    Bold  men  have  grasped  the  sword  hilt  firm; 

While  curdled  nature  saith:    'On  Guard!    On  Guard!'  " 

"Echo  we  that"  de  Moranville  declared. 

"Well  said,  on  guard!"  cried  Lehman  at  his  side. 

"To  Liege,"  said  Michel.     Knightly  generals, 

They  served  the  king.    Michel  did  add:    "O  king, 

This  is  the  doctrine  we  have  taught  for  years. 

Stern  have  we  fought  it  through  'gainst  jibes  and  jeers." 

"Thy  king  assents.    Speed  ye  to  our  defence 
Dream  not  of  cost  nor  recompense. 


56 

De  Moranville  to  Antwerp,  thou, 

Michel  to  old  Namur,  the  gate  of  Prance. 

"Now  that  thou  'rt  here,  Count  Tappaneau, 
Preach  that  evangel  all  fair  Belgium  through, 
And  bid  the  youth  of  Belgium  be  on  guard ; 
While  I,  with  Lehman,  seek  Namur  and  Liege 
To  stock  their  mighty  ring-forts  'gainst  a  siege. 

"No  matter  whence  the  trampling  armies  come; 
If  out  of  the  south  or  crost  the  gray  frontier, 
Confronted  shall  they  crash  with  all  our  power 
Ere  they  have  crushed  one  starry  wayside  flower, 
As  God  created  good  the  form  of  man, 
Our  manlike  deeds  His  justice  must  o'erscan. 

"De  Moranville,  thou,  Tappaneau,  ye  two, 

In  private  councils  will  I  bosom  thee. 

Ye  public  men  unto  your  tasks  apace 

Lest  on  the  smallest  link  may  hang  disgrace. 

Call  into  session  all  our  councellors 

To  find  us  unity  and  wisdom's  course." 

Oh,  not  alone  in  Belgium,  from  that  hour 

Men  made  them  ready  both  in  court  and  field. 

Warned  as  by  flash  of  some  far  distant  gun, 

Across  a  mighty  vale  at  night,  that  dies 

Long  ere  the  whining  shell  is  heard 

Nor  yet  the  ground  upheaved  in  rough,  red  death, 

So  'gainst  war's  fateful  coming  kings  took  breath; 

And  commons  read  "Upharsin"  crost  the  sky, 

Nor  slept  the  interim  of  peace  away. 

Day  after  day  swept  by  in  quietude 

And  outward  calm.    But,  deep  of  night,  'tis  said, 

By  muffled  car,  rolled  up  huge  guns  to  Leige 

Or  slumbering  Namur  beside  the  Meuse. 

Men  cast  huge  new  emplacements  wrought  in  stone 

And  tried  the  turrets  of  the  fortresses; 


57       '    :> 

Till  every  soldier  ready  unto  arms 

Did  wait  the  bugle  call,  steadfast  and  true. 

Meanwhile  throughout  the  realm  sped  Tappaneau — 
Ostend  to  Charleroi,  Mons,  Hasselt  and  Louvain — 
Bearing  the  king's  evangel  far  and  wide; 
Spurring  the  youth  to  honor  gloriously, 
And  meeting  everywhere  the  proud  acclaim 
And  confidence  of  zeal.    No  tocsin  glare 
Through  Caledonian  highlands  grim  and  bare 
Ere  waked  the  Campbells  or  the  Douglas  clan 
As  Belgium  waked  to  duty  to  a  man. 

At  last  came  days  of  homey  ease  and  rest 

When  far  in  Hisbaye  he  lost  himself, 

And  all  the  anxious  world  forgot.    Sometimes 

To  forest  reverie,  to  stream,  to  sapphire  vault 

Of  skies  went  Crystal  Thurberwald  as  well; 

And  may  it  be  the  walls  of  artificial  caste, 

Perchance,  unto  a  low,  gray  ruin  fell 

And  social  myth  grew  like  a  wraith  ephemeral? 

Ah,  not  far  sundered  move  two  guiltless  souls 
Beneath  gnarled  oaks — beneath  the  starry  shoals 
Of  twilight  and  the  night — 'neath  cordial  moon, 
Love's  deity  alike  to  Flemish  maid  to  proud  Walloon. 

Still  ever  back  of  all  a  Spectre  strode, 

The  moan  of  souls  through  vaults  where  death  abode — 

The  'venging  ghost  of  murdered  Ferdinand 

That  in  the  midst  of  joy  laid  chilling  hand. 

For  there  be  potencies  beyond  the  grave, 
Where  spirits  toil  to  shape  our  destinies; 
And  throned  souls  that  never  dreamed  of  power, 
Ere  portaled  death  proclaimed  their  fatal  hour. 


PART  IV. 


THE  INVADER 

Events  went  ill  across  the  Bosnian  realm, 

Until  the  Iron  Gate  of  Hungary, 

Where  rolls  resounding  Danube  on  superb, 

Trembled  and  whipped  to  mightier  surge 

Than  Danube's  three  score  rivers  dared  to  urge; 

Till  nature  hid  her  face  beneath  the  ban 

Of  blind  and  bellowing  passion  born  of  man. 

For  now  'twas  urged  those  murderous  weapons  came 
From  Serbia — from  royal  arsenals. 
'Twas  charged  those  guilty  hands  took  willing  aid 
From  military  chiefs  of  old  Belgrade; 
That  men  of  state  were  father  to  the  crime; 
The  state  itself  a  wet  nurse  to  it — after  fact ; 
While,  far  from  grief,  its  public  did  exult; 
Rejoiced  and  danced;  cried:     "Ho!     Deliverance!" 
And  to  the  broad  light  tossed  a  warlike  lance. 

So  leapt  the  challenge  stern  of  Austria — 
A  swift  swart  steed,  defiant,  thunder-maned, 
As  one  which  in  the  valley  paweth  deep, 
And  clouds  the  desert  with  his  spurning  hoof ; 
That  goeth  forth  the  armed  men  to  meet, 
That  saith  "Aha"  against  the  bayonet. 

Yea,  'twas  defiance  like  a  gauntlet  hurled 
Off  monstrous  battlements  upon  a  world 
Of  stubborn  hate ;  while,  on  the  flash  it  made, 
Each  spear  in  Serbia  rose  a-tilt;  each  hand 
Forgot  its  craft  to  hilt  a  tempered  brand. 


59 

And  soon — oh  ties  of  blood  how  keen  ye  draw 
From  ancient  heritage  by  ancient  law — 
The  torch  that  red  in  Belgrade  shone 
Melt  down  the  bergs  that  lock  the  frigid  zone; 
And  what  in  Serbia  flamed  with  passion  mad 
Became  white  heat,  anon,  in  Petrograd. 

Then  cossacks  of  the  Don  drew  taut  the  rein, 
While  after  strode  grim  peasants  of  Ukraine; 
Adown  the  Caucasus,  e'en  Mount  Elbruz, 
From  Caspian  waste  and  near  Euxine, 
From  Tundras  dim,  in  reindeer  march, 
Swift  as  the  boreal  blast  from  White  Sea's  breast, 
Uprose  the  Russian  hordes,  and  o'er  them  played 
A  wilful,  growing,  red,  primeval  rage. 

And  men  cried  " Peace"  and,  lo,  there  was  no  peace. 
For  naught  in  earth  might  slack  the  spur  of  Austria — 
Unhorse  the  swarthy  Cossacks  on  the  River  Don. 
Nor  hell  might  thwart  nor  heaven  overwhelm 
The  bold  decision  of  the  Prussian  realm. 
For  all  the  dogs  were  lossed,  the  ware-wolves  packed, 
The  bison  bowled  the  red  horizon's  o'er, 
Huge  grass-fires  leaping  close  in  mocking  ease. 
Plumed  whirlwind  heaping  bare  the  bedded  seas — 
Thus  eagerness,  suspicion,  panic,  rage 
And  indiscretion  chaosized  the  age. 

Then  what  were  vast  alliances  to  purchase  peace? 
No  better  than  soft  wax  to  flame's  increase. 
Alike  went  threat  and  supplicant  across  the  board 
To  clear  for  battle — half  the  cause  unheard. 

For  one  said:  "Wilt  thou  stand  aside,  or  no?" 
And  'tother:  "Nay,  I  shall  not,  if  thou  strike!" 
And  one  said,  "Whose  part,  thou?"  and  'tother  vowed, 


60 


.  . 


Nay,  I  shall  serve  my  interests,  not  thine." 
And  one  said,  "Ho,  ye  islanders,  reveal 
What  shall  content  thee  that  ye  keep  the  peace?" 
Then  from  the  isles — "That  will  we  not  reveal," 
Came  back  cold  echo  o'er  the  narrowed  main. 

How  pitifully  just  was  Belgium's  cause 

Twixt  warring  champions !    She  yearned  for  peace. 

Urged  one  who'd  not  be  foe — "Stand  thou  aside. 
The  mighty  here  must  tread." 

Then  'tother  warned — 

Yea  she  who  would  be  friend:    "Nay,  thou  must  shed 
The  last  drop  of  thy  blood  to  block  yon  pass; 
And  nothing  less  shall  be  expect  of  thee." 

Howe'er  it  be,  proud  nations  strake  their  tents, 
And  all  that  smacked  of  cause  fell  smothered  in  events; 
Beneath  which  plague  smoke-fumed,  and  gassed,  and  red, 
Each  eventide  hope  carried  out  her  dead. 

Where  first  that  bitter  carnage  fell ;  and  how 
The  Belgians  bore  it  gallantly  and  fought 
The  avalanche,  let  us  resmue. 

Alert, 

Of  August  morn,  upon  the  parapets 
Of  Loncin  stood  a  group  of  eager  men 
Who  harked  into  the  early-breathing  dawn, 
Or  peered  up  through  the  vale  of  Vesdre,  pale  in  mist, 
To  list  afar  the  initial  tread  of  German  hordes 
At  Herbesthal  beyond  the  gray  frontier. 

Night  long,  had  toiled,  and  everywhere  about 
Delved  many  thousands  heaving  up  redoubt, 


61 

Or  framing  shelter  'gainst  impending  shot, 
'Gainst  splitting  rain  of  schrapnel,  bursting  bomb 
And  hand-grenade. 

Some  twined  entanglements 
To  check  the  rush  of  hostile  bayonet 
Or  trampling  horse;  laid  mine  and  pitfall  secretly. 
'Twas  Lehman  and  his  men  at  Liege,  with  them 
Monet  and  Charles  of  Tappaneau.    The  last, 
On  tap  of  midnight,  from  the  king  brought  word 
Of  Germany's  demand  for  highway  clear — 
The  king's  denial  o't,  and  purpose  firm 
To  guard  the  borderland  what  e'er  betide. 

"Here,"  said  the  general  to  Tappaneau, 
"At  last  have  we  our  forces  fair  disposed, 
With  outposts  set  and  scouts  abroad  beyond 
Verviers.     Let  us  take  breath — and,  Charles, 
Those  tidings  thou  art  bursting  with,  report. 
Tell  us  the  news.    What  of  the  cause,  the  war, 
The  times,  the  outside  world?    How  goes  it  yonT' 

"Why,  all  goes  ill,  if  to  the  ears  in  blood 
Be  by  the  soldier  counted  so.    No  hope 
Of  peace  to  place  reliance  on. 

"By  right 

Thy  rush  of  querries  answer  I  in  turn. 
The  cause  of  Belgium  bears  twin  babes, 
Justice  and  Honor  called,  and  both  we  guard 
Unto  the  vale  of  death  with  all  our  power. 

"The  war  doth  like  a  mighty  engine  twirl 
Huge  wheels  that  soon  accelerate  to  reach 
An  unimagined  speed — a  cargo  there 
That  breeds  both  death  and  plague  to  look  upon, 


62 

And  hell  the  port  of  entry  at  the  last. 
"The  times  be  those  in  which  the  wrath  of  God 
Outbursts  the  winepress  by  the  ages  trod. 
Nay,  horse-bit  deep  the  measure  of  that  flow, 
The  breast  of  Europe,  lo,  the  channel  where 
It  flows." 

"Hold,  Charles,  ye  speak  to  soldiers,  man. 
Too  wierd  and  gloomed  thy  predilections  are — " 

"Ten  days  have  changed  the  bounds  of  universe, 
And  torn  the  tapestry  that  thinly  hides 
The  charnel  vault  of  mortal  fear  that  grips 
All  Europe's  sunlit  lands. 

"Suspicion  sprang 

A  sulphur-sheeted  ghost  from  that  pale  corpse 
Of  Ferdinand's.    Blind  wrath  a  second  rose, 
Ambition  third. 

"Diplomacy,  deceit 

And  fear  a  trembling  trio  stood,  that  oped 
Their  gates  to  every  crooked  horn  that  blows." 

"Still  dost  thou  riddle  us  who  ask  plain  speech! 
Why  speak  in  parables?    Curt  truth's  too  long 
To  suit  the  impatience  of  this  hour.     Speak  out!" 

"I  catalogue  it  then.     Ten  days  are  sped 
Since  Austria  made  arrest  of  Serbia — 
Laid  to  her  charge  the  murder  of  his  grace, 
Franz  Ferdinand.     Straight,  threated  Serbia 
Appealed  to  the  astonished  Czar,  whose  hand 
To  hilt  went  home — whose  myriads  took  flame. 
Whereon  the  mittel-Europe's  emperor 
Demanded  halt. 

"Yet  all  the  mobile  force 
Russia  sullen  moved  in  westward  trend. 


63 

The  War  Lord  brought  the  parleys  sharp  to  end, 
Believing  not  the  'truce-talk'  of  the  bear. 
France  stands  with  Russia  fervently, 
And  peers  o'er  Alsace  keen  and  vengefully, 
While  England  will  to  battle  presently. 

"Now  at  each  other's  throats,  past  hope  they  fly; 

And  over  ours  spurs  time-lorn  Germany; 

Savage  the  heart  of  vengeful  France  to  smite, 

Ere  he  must  grip  the  bear  that  rules  the  norther  night. 

"How  brief  his  time  judge  ye!    Today?    By  noon? 
Shall  Hunnish  hordes  tread  down  the  bold  Walloon? 

"No  distant  hour  they  strike.    For  Luxemburg 
Was  yester  morn  o'errun,  which  ominous  threat 
Doth  tilt  toward  us  indeed. 

"Before  that  flood 
My  sister  Caroline  has  fled  the  duchy  home." 

"Has  Caroline,  indeed,  escaped!    Thank  God!" 

"She  has,  Monet;  but  not  before  she  saw 

And  verily  did  aid  superb  Marie 

Adelaide — divine  and  royal  heart — 

Queen-star  of  all  the  shoals  of  starlight  brave 

That  course  the  heaven  of  time — To  bare  her  breast 

In  personal  defiance  to  the  knaves — 

The  helmeted  despoilers  of  her  court. 

Across  the  bridge  of  Treves  she  thrust  her  car, 

Save  her  sweet  soul  her  country  had  no  bar 

Against  such  vile  invasion  and  disfame!" 

"And  there  she  stood  and  made  protest  to  God, 

To  Venging  courts  of  man,  how  sharp,  roughshod, 

Her  dignities  were  trampled  on. 


64 

"And   when 

This  failed,  all  sadly  she  restrained  Van  Dyck, 
The  major  of  her  wee  gendarmerie, 
Who  would  have  fired  on  them. 

"  '  'Twill  naught  avail 
But  woe  as  well  as  loss,'  she  said.    'Prevail 
Upon  my  people  to  restrain  their  rage; 
Postpone  their  retributions  to  a  nobler  age, 
When  pledge  of  man  is  made  a  sacred  vow, 
And  not  the  hollow  thing  we  see  it  now!" 

"So  came  the  tide  wave;  but  the  shock  of  arms 

Swept  by  to  crash  the  French  frontier  with  wild  alarms. 

The  same  gray  myriads  would  tread  us,  too — 
But  ne'er  supinely,  while  there's  deeds  to  do." 

"Yea,  we  shall  check  them  come  they  ne'er  so  huge 
And  manifold." 

"Lo,  by  the  sun  we  shall. 

Into  that  task  we're  urged  by  England's  power, 
Whose  fleet  is  in  the  channel  and  her  men 
Afoot.    France  sendeth,  instant  at  our  call, 
Five  legions  on  with  all  her  power  behind. 

"The  king  already  takes  the  gauntlet  up; 
Harsh  in  the  teeth  of  Prussia  flings  it  back; 
Denying  every  inch  of  Belgian  soil, 
The  smallest  twig  of  Arden's  cladden  hills, 
The  frailest  flower  that  nestles  by  the  Meuse." 

"Ah,  now  thou  speaketh,  man,  without  a  fault! 
There  stands  a  king  and  warrior  shall  not  halt 
Nor  bow  to  any  treacherous  design! 


65 

And  here's  a  cause  without  a  shadow's  taint 

That  arms  us  all — proud  knight,  or  clown,  or  saint — 

Shall  glorify  with  diadem  and  ring 

The  steadfast  soldiers  of  the  Belgian  king ! 

Our  task  to  tangle  in  the  fleet  advance 

Invaders  yon,  and  wait  the  hosts  of  France, 

The  legions  fair  of  Albion." 

"Oh,  sire, 

Look  yonder!     Down  the  misty  dawn  rides  one 
As  though  he  twinned  the  very  god  of  speed." 

"A  messenger?    Wears  he  the  uniform? 
"He  does." 

"He's  from  the  outposts  then.    He  bears 
A  burden  of  import — we'll  instant  learn." 

"The  general!   Where  way?" 

"Here,  Thy  report?" 

"The  German  horde  is  moved  from  Gemmenich, 

And  Herbesthal  is  surging  like  the  sea! 

Quite  as  a  tidal  wave  doth  over-roll 

Ripped  dykes  of  Flanders,  so  immense  they  sweep 

On  Belgium  soil.    We  are  invaded,  sir." 

"Cut  loose  the  signal  guns.     Set  all  the  bells 
Of  Liege  a-clang.    Raise  all  the  flags  on  high. 
Complete  the  barricades.    Each  man  his  post. 
Thou  Charles  of  Tappaneau,  forewarn  the  king. 

"Obstruct  the  highways  all.    Fell  down  the  trees. 
Iron,  wire,  wains,  vehicles  and  clumsy  vans! 
Trucks,  engines,  ponderous  impediments! 


66 

Take  all  and  cast  them  in  the  way.    Obstruct 
And  hinder! 

"Tear  the  bridges — tear  them  all! 
"What  of  the  way  by  rail?    Monet,  report. " 

"We  can  unseat  the  bridges,  sir.    But  still 
Of  more  effect  to  blast  the  tunnels  well 
This  side  of  Verviers." 

"No  time  remains  for  that. 

A  score  of  moguls  seize — turned  half  toward  Liege 
And  half  toward  Herbesthal — ye  set  them  wild! 
Deep  in  the  tunnel's  guts,  there  let  them  crash, 
Twist,  overturn  and  wheel,  fuse  to  a  mass 
Of  interlocking  steel!    So  shall  the  vale 
Of  Vesdre  be  secure — thanks  to  the  hills 
And  woods  impregnable. 

"Boom  boom,  ye  guns! 

Eoll  solemn  sound!    Wake  ye  the  dead  of  Belgia's  sons! 
Wild  dawn,  and  day  of  days — The  huge  archangel's  wing 
Doth  sweep  the  sky  in  times  that  need  no  heralding!" 

Then  many  a  crowned  and  noble  oak  went  down, 
And  many  a  royal  pine  of  Arden  Hills, 
Hewn  to  a  sacrifice  by  savage  blades 
Of  war.    In  many  a  tangled,  winrowed  heap 
The  shattered  lindens  lay  like  hosts  of  dead 
Along  the  labyrinthine  ways. 

The  smoke 

Of  devastated  farms  arose  to  hang 
Jet  black  against  the  morning  light ; 
Whence  fled  white  fugitives  and  hoarse 
Sad-lowing  kine. 


67 

Out  of  the  wildwood  sped 

The  mourning-dove  with  half  her  fledgling  brood. 
The  eagle  shot  aloft  to  flash  defiant  eye, 
While  from  the  blue  and  farther  crests,  Ah,  God! 
The  shagrag,  shuddering  vulture  took  the  sky. 

Thinly  at  first  and  then  more  dense,  more  dense, 

Swept  on  the  vast  gray  sea  of  human  forms ; 

Chanting  a  mighty  hymn  as  rolls  the  Rhine. 

They  tore  and  tossed  the  tangled  trunks 

And"  cursed  the  highways  blocked — the  slow  advance. 

The  bitter  populace  that  thronged  and  jeered 

And  joined  in  every  hinderance. 

The   thing 

So  easy  forced  upon  frail  Luxemburg 
Became  a  task,  a  joust,  a  struggle  grim; 
With  cruel  shot  that  split  and  hurtled  death; 
With  hidden  foes  'neath  every  hedge  and  wall; 
An  ambuscade  behind  the  languid  smoke 
Of  every  burning  cot ;  a  phalanx  walled 
Each  bridge  with  glittering  steel,  where  strove 
A  mad,  perplexed  and  outraged  peasantry 
With  hook  and  adze  and  scythe,  with  fork  and  tongs. 

Lo,  here,  lo,  there  a  squad  of  soldiery. 
An  officer,  a  troop,  a  scouting  plane, 
A  flying  car !    So  came  the  toiling  mass 
In  range  of  Liege. 

Then  Loncin  spoke, 

And  high  the  whining  shell  arched  up  to  fall 
Near  Vise  on  the  Meuse.    A  ponderous  bridge 
Dropped  at  the  sullen  blast.    The  farther  ridge 
Outbroke  a  thousand  glistering  brands — 
The  foe  with  conquering  bayonet  in  hands ! 


68 

Came  night  and  drew  her  somber  curtain  o'er 
The  vale  of  Vesdre  where  the  grasses  hung 
With  heavy  tears — ah,  ghastly,  mocking  night! 
The  slumberous  veil  of  it  was  sunder  torn; 
Its  peaceful  stars  all  blotted  out. 

Far   wide 

The  war-lights  swept  and  pla}^ed  and  sought 
The  cunning  sanguinary  foe  that  prowled 
The  hideous  inferno  blade  in  hand — 
This  way,  the  clash  of  restless  bivouac; 
Hard  by,  the  muster  of  the  midnight  raid. 
While  everywhere  the  hurtling,  screaming  shells 
Flared  out  their  vivid,  agonizing  blasts. 
Nor  din  nor  clamor  served  to  drown  the  groans; 
The  stifled  death  scream  and  the  crunch  of  bones. 
Thus  sane  man  wars,  reason  to  slaughter  led. 
Who  hath  not  rage,  low-lieth,  trampled,  dead. 

Oh  second  morn  of  rich,  of  rich  and  ruby  skies, 
How  could  thy  paleness  warm  upon  such  agonies! 
Oh,  heavens  ever  calm,  unfeeling,  lo,  they  seem; 
Love  of  the  God  thereof  a  medieval  dream! 
Yet  rail  not  God !    All  lieth  in  the  plan 
That  binds  a  deathless  universe  to  man. 
But  dawns  must  rise  and  mortal  man  must  strive 
A  Christ  who  calmed  the  waves  said  not  to  him, 
"Be  still!    But  once  before  the  mighty  said 
The  Lord: — "No  peaceful  token,  think  ye,  but 
I  bring  a  sword,  a  sword!" 


So  strife  swept  high. 


Thus  far  the  mighty  girdle-fozis  that  lay 
Upon  the  shaggy,  mountain-breasts  of  Liege 
Served  as  a  tempered  armor  'gainst  which  clanged, 


69 

Prom  dawn  to  eve,  the  flower  of  the  foe. 
Men  proved  them  pliant  clay  to  take  the  mold 
Of  varied  strategy;  their  founting  blood 
As  water  to  the  potter's  flying  wheel; 
Their  hearts  at  need  more  flinty  than  the  steel, 
Ready  to  vault,  to  shock,  to  tear,  to  guard, 
To  win,  to  break,  as  doth  the  potter's  shard. 

Von  Emmich  proved  a  stubborn  general. 

Out  of  the  sullen  arsenals  that  lie 

Across  the  stern  frontier  were  secret  brought 

Huge  ordinance  of  such  uncanny  might 

That  three  score  well  directed  shots  might  doom 

The  army  good  Sir  Godfrey  led  to  fame 

At  Ascalon.     Aye,  one  such  shattering  blast 

Had  put  to  flight  Selieuman  and  his  host, 

As  by  the  godlike  Eichard  struck  on  Acre's  plain. 

And  these  on  Fleron'  gan  to  play. 

The  while 

Prince  Frederick  Charles  of  Prussia  swift  detoured 
A  rugged  troop  of  gray  uhlans  to  burst 
A  portal  to  the  walls  they  coveted. 
The  scion  of  the  house  that  won  Le  Mans 
Retained  the  craft  of  his  ancestor's  hands. 
And  many  a  rugged  troop,  'neath  noble  crest 
Of  Lord,  from  Kiel  to  Frankfort-on-the-Main, 
The  onslaught  hurled  across  the  thousands  slain. 
The  Belgians  stern  did  front  them  one  to  four, 
Flanked  by  the  armored  forts,  with  steady  roar ; 
Which  took  as  fearful  toll  in  aggregate 
As  Nilus'  bitter  plagues  insatiate. 

PYet  ere  the  third  day's  solemn  glory  waned 
La  Chartreuse,  on  the  east,  was  fairly  gained; 
And  through  the  heavy  night  unweary  pressed 


70 

Full  twice  ten  thousand  o'er  that  rugged  crest. 
The  foe  ere  dawn,  in  Meuse's  gentle  tide, 
Slaked  bitter  thirst;  while,  ah,  at  morningtide, 
They  seized  the  Bridge  of  Arches,  with  the  rest, 
To  plunge  the  throttled  city  lying  west. 

They  fought  there  mightily. 

The  o'ermatched  band 

Of  Belgians  slowly  backward  swept,  and  saved 
A  remnant  small  to  heckel  and  delay 
The  onrush  broad  that  aimed  at  Sheldt's  rich  plain. 

Upon  the  tap  of  that  retreat,  ere  yet 

The  bugles  rang,  Sir  Lehman  called  his  staff 

About  him.    Thus  he  spake : — 


. . 


'Twas  ne'er  the  plan 
Of  Brialmont,  who  these  fortresses  designed, 
That  Belgia's  sons  should  here  be  sacrificed, 
Nor  Meuse  become  Thermopylae,  the  place 
Of  monuments. 

"  Charles,  order  the  retreat, 

Ere  ye  be  crushed.    Make  haste !    Slip  ye  from  out 
The  anaconda  fold  that  coils  us  here. 
Westward  retire  through  Hisbaye. 

"  Behold, 

The  dragon  of  the  Rhine  is  resurrect, 
With  gaunt  blood-hunger  come,  with  sulphurous  exhale, 
Spouting  his  venom  as,  bedeeped,  the  stricken  whale, 
Dragging  the  course  of  nations  in  his  wake, 
Till  cruel  flukes  and  talons  o'er  us  rake. — 
Time  turneth  short.    Begone !    Begone ! 


71 

"To  me 


Hemains  a  duty  yet  in  stricken  Liege 
And  at  the  end  a  heavenward  pilgrimage. 


" 


Save,  save  thy  men  to  join  'neath  Antwerp  walls; 
But  be  ye  vigilant  and  bold,  as  falls 

Our  long  known  plan.     Strike  quick!     Strike  hard!     And  then 
Sweep  off — swift  and  elusive — this  thy  boast. 
Be  vengeful  hornets  to  th'  invading  host. 

"But,  in  thy  flight,  forget  not  those  who  flee, 
And  to  the  civil  horde  do  kindly  charity. 
To  fugitive  stand  guide  and  guard.    Their  hope 
Is  wrapped  in  thee.    I  charge  the  ne'er  to  grope 
Blind  path  of  duty  when  they  need.    Put  all 
Aside  to  take  the  fleeing  babe  to  arms;  lead  safe 
The  young  and  mothers  of  the  young — each  waif 
That  seeks  the  path  of  safety.    Woe  betide 
The  chief  who  succors  not  the  sundered  bride, 
The  hallowed  g^andsire,  or  the  ancient  dame. 

"Already  have  sweet  innocents  been  slain 
Twixt  Liege  and  Herbesthal,  where  chubby  babes 
Lie  stark  from  sabre  stroke,  from  lance's  thrust, 
Felled  by  the  grim  uhlans.    And  there  be  maids 
In  Arden  wood  who  dare  not  breathe  their  name, 
Since  they  be  counted  living  after  shame. — 
Yea,  so  'tis  told,  and,  whether  true  or  no 
I  charge  ye  guard  the  weak  from  chance  of  woe. 

' '  Now  bid  me  forth  to  Loncin,  to  my  men ; 
To  sell  our  blood  so  dear  that  every  drop 
Shall  buy  an  hundred  lives. 

"Farewell,  good  friends 
And  true.    Farewell  to  you!" 


72 

"Ah,  general, 
Cried  Charles  of  Tappaneau,  "I  stay  with  you!" 

"Nay,  Charles,  and  nay,  Monet!    With  true  regret 

We  bid  ye  both  adieu.    No  backward  step 

Is  thine.    I  pass  the  orders  of  the  king ! 

Are  they  gainsayed !    How  will  ye  then  be  loitering  ? 

Off  with  ye !    God !    I  must  save  my  eyes ! 

Shall  damned  tears  blind  me  to  a  tearless  foe's  surprise?" 


PART  V. 


THE  TERROR 

Then  sorrowful  the  Belgians  sped  from  Liege 
And  left  their  general  to  seek  his  doom 
In  Loncin 's  mighty  walls. 

So  sank  the  brave — 

Like  salt  and  grizzled  captain  o'  the  deep, 
Lone  on  the  washing  bridge,  while  'neath  him  reeled 
The  good  barque  of  his  pride — a  derelict. 

So  came  Von  Emmich  unto  goodly  Liege — 

A  prize  too  rich  in  booty  for  the  sword — 

Close  in  the  city's  heart  were  straightly  reared 

The  huge  emplacements  for  the  fatal  guns 

That,  one  by  one,  the  mighty  girdle-forts 

Beat  down.     Flemalle,  Fleron,  Boncelles 

Swooped  into  dust,  in  half  as  many  days. 

Pontisse,  Berchon,  Claudfontaine  and  Spa 

Were  "doomed  the  soulless,  whipping  scourge  to  draw. 

Ten  savage  days  stood  Loncin  over  all 

While  every  shot  unbent  and  let  the  heavens  fall. 

So  on  a  red  and  lurid  dawn,  surcharged 
With  heaving  shells,  mid  smoke  of  villages, 
Of  shattered  farms,  the  myriad  Prussian  host 
Assumed  full  sway. 

The  mighty  Skoda  guns 

Waked  no  response  from  Loncin,  where  alone 
The  brave  flag  waved  defiance. 

Swift  advance 

Was  under  way  by  every  road  and  file 
Toward  Hasselt,  toward  Louvain.    The  stubborn  fort 


74 

That  hitherto  had  stood  a  barrier 
Against  this  flood,  was  stilled,  while  yet  intense, 
Upon  the  fortress  doomed,  the  bitter  hail 
Of  conquest  flailed  and  boomed. 

A   group 

Of  battle-worn  invaders  watched  the  course 
Of  monstrous  missies  curiously  and  grim. 
With  'vancing  dawn,  they  marked  the  silent  fort; 
Which  voiceless  omen  spake  a  tale  that's  told. 

Said  one:    "Christ's  name  to  such  a  shot  should  be 
The  last;  for  pent  concussion  shatters  here 
The  window  panes,  the  quivering  walls;  splits  wide 
The  eardrums  'neath  the  dizzy  brain  like  darts 
Of  fire. 

"So  have  we  thought,  Von  Weber,  these 
Ten  days.     Airmen  report  she's  sunk  to  dust; 
Each  blast  doth  fling  a  gusty  cloud  heaven 
Like  colicked  Etna  or  Vesuvius. 
And  yet  she  stands.    Ye '11  hear  her  guns  ere  long." 

"I  tell  thee  no!     There's  nothing  left!     Hear  that, 
Von  Emmich!    Was  ever  such  a  monstrous  sound? 
The  crystal  heavens  split.     The  solid  ground 
Edgewise  doth  tilt  and  quake  like  aspen  wood. 
Yon  tall  bell-tower  did  lean  from  plum  a  rood." 

You're  right  Von  Weber.     'Tis  her  magazines — 
The  knotty  heart  of  Loncin  breaks  at  last! 
Waste  no  more  shot.     Drive  o'er  the  intervale. 
Come,  speed  thy  motor,  Carl  of  Baden.    Speed ! 
Lest  we  neglect  such  rescue  as  might  add 
To  triumph's  wealth,  or  grace  humanity. 
For,  such  the  stern  necessity  that  grips 


75 

Our  course,  the  last,  already,  is  too  oft, 
Too  savagely  denied  us. 

Who'd  have  dreamed 

These  Belgians  would  resist  to  death?    Pretense 
Of  fighting  that  did  we  expect;  but  not 
This  grinding  to  the  very  dust.     Men  boys, 
Wee  children,  nay,  young  girls,  do  gall  our  flanks 
Continually  like  gadflies  of  the  Nile. 
The  women  like  gaunt  houri  interpose 
At  every  turn,  'neath  every  wayside  cross. 

"Here  was  a  link  miscalculated  in  the  gross 
Of  our  warlike  philosophy.    Lawless 
Necessity  doth  breed  a  state  where  law 
Is  vanished;  even  caution  out  of  bale. 
We'll  find  a  stubborn  land  in  Belgium. 

"Hold, 
Men.    Out  now,  run  across  these  crater  fields." 

"Oh  breath!    My  wind  is  flat  with  dodging  holes 
And  craters  here.     O  for  a  rest!    We've  come 
Too  swift — exceeding  limit,  where  there  lies 
No  thoroughfare." 

"Lo,"  Carl  of  Baden  moans; 
"My  wind  is  flat,"  which,  truly,  could  not  be 
Within  a  form  so  round." 

"No  breath  is  in 

My  form,  blockhead.    I've  e'en  been  running  out 
Of  form." 

"With  Carl  to  run  is  just  to  roll." 

"Now,  on  my  soul,  I'll  outroll  thee,  whose  legs 

Be  spidery  as  wire."  H^J 


76 

"  Leave  jesting  men. 

The  fortress  yawns  a  cavern  here,  smoked,  dim 
And  full  of  noxious  gas  as  any  hell. 
Look  sharp!    If  ye  see  aught  report  or  call." 

"  I  see  a  hand  or  two  lopped  off.    Three  teeth 
Hang  dented  in  the  timber  of  this  mine." 


" 


Speak  not  of  that !    We  seek  not  for  the  dead, 
Who  have  good  burial  as  they  may  get. 
Look  for  the  living." 

"Here  opes  a  passageway 
That  seems  to  link  some  subterranean  vault, 
Now  wrecked  and  choked  with  smothering  flames." 

"One  lieth  under  yonder  beam.    Try  Carl 
If  it  will  move." 

"Though  it  be  column  to 

Philista's  temple  set,  I'll  Samson  it.    Ha,  there! 
We  have  a  prize!    I  see  huge  epaulettes." 

"To  outer  air  with  him.    Lave  off  the  grime. 

If  he  be  living,  bring  him  to  us  straight. 

Out  of  this  chartless  desert  let  us  reel. 

Poison  and  dank  it  lies,  and  should  be  still 

As  fits  the  vaults  of  death.    Waste  no  more  search; 

Most  strange  e'en  one  survives  that  final  lurch." 

"Some  messengers  be  climbing  down  this  savage  file; 
The  moulten  ashpit  of  this  dead  compile." 


"Could  ye  not  let  me  die*?    A  moment  more, 
The  flitting,  fevered  flame  had  flickered !    Fled 
As  I  desired !    Whom  be  ye,  there  ?    Speak  up. 


77 

"Aide  to  Von  Emmich,  sire.    Command  is  mine 
To  fetch  thee  straight,  if  thou  be  living,  sir?" 

"May  I  say  dead,  who  am  a  living  death? — 
A  prisoner  of  war — whose  will  is  twist 
With  every  whim  of  Caesar's  wheel?    Lead  on. 
Before  Von  Emmich  let  me  go.    Unhurt 
Am  I,  save  in  my  strangled  soul." 

"Stand  by  till  I  return.    I  do  apprise 
The  general  thou  art  revived.    I'll  back 
Instant. 

"The  general.    Attention  all." 

"Ah,  Lehman,  thou  art  still  alive,  despite 
The  cudgel  of  these  fratricidal  days!" 

"Not  tame  as  our  maneuvers,  sire — not  quite! 

Friends  by  the  Belgian  king  stood  we  before 

This  ravening  war.    Here  is  my  sword.     'Tis  thine. 

"Nay,  keep  it,  sire.     'Tis  honor  to  cross  swords 
With  such  as  thou.    A  wonderful  defence ! 
A  godlike  blade!" 

"Now,  bear  me  witness,  ye! 

Before  the  courts  of  man :    Death  had  me  gripped 
And  langor  closed  these  eyes;  or  ne'er  alive 
Had  I  my  good  sword  thus  bestowed. — 

"Thank  you. 

This  compliment  must  comfort  me  beyond 
The  Ehine." 

"Farewell,  sir,  to  a  better  day — 
Orderly !    Maintain  thy  strictest  duty  to 
This  prisoner — 


78 

"Who  spoke  of  messengers'?" 
"Here  be  they,  sir." 

"Report." 

"From  Vise,  sir. 

A  new  outburst  o'  that  belligerent  town 
Hath  cost  us  lives.    Shots  have  been  fired — men  slain ; 
Poison  in  cups,  violence  by  night,  poinards, 
Knives,  pointed  tools,  blood-letting,  violence. 
Thy  commandant  of  Landwehr  seeks  of  thee 
Authority  to  deal  with  rioting." 

"Bid  him,  at  best  discretion,  firm  apply 
Sufficient  force  to  counteract  these  deeds." 

"Whereby,  he'll  burn  the  town!" 

"So  let  it  burn! 

The  civil  horde  must  bitter  lesson  learn 
By  penalty  a  hundred-fold  more  sharp 
Than  is  attempt.    Wherefore,  in  Belgian  towns 
Seize  hostages,  and  after  feudal  law 
Exact  the  utmost  till  this  struggle  cease. 
An  Belgium  will  be  crushed,  she  shall  be  crushed 
Indeed ! 


u 


Hear  ye  of  staff!    Heed  our  decree! 


Under  the  wood,  and  under  glowing  stars 

That  change  not  courses  for  frail  human  wars, 

In  Belgia's  camps  two  sentries,  met  at  post, 

Renewed  a  testy  thread  of  argument. 

One  made  complaint,  e'en  from  the  fall  of  Liege, 

'Gainst  what  he  nicknamed  "Hinter  pilgrimmage!" 

"Say  not  we  fled,  Joalin,  comrade.     Say 
Retired." 


79 

"Bender  thy  sentry  call!   Ere  now 
'Tis  time. 

"THREE  O'  THE  NIGHT,  THREE  O'  THE  NIGHT! 
ALL'S  WELL! 

(A-near)     "Three  o'  The  Night,  Three  o'  The  Night! 
All's  Well !" 

(A-far)     "Three   o'  the  night!     Three   o'  the  night! 
A-l-Ps  W-e-1-1!" 

"Why"?    Fled's  a  pointed  word,  and  brief 
And  blunt,  and  soldierly." 

"Yes,  pointed,  brief 
And  blunt,  but  not  quite  soldierly." 

"If  not 

Quite  so,  why,  then,  be  twenty  thousand  troops 
So  busy  at  it  ?" 

"Not  fleeing,  Joalin!" 

"Just  so — retiring  then — More  haste,  less  grace! 
To  flee  denotes  an  enemy,  pursuit, 
A  looking  o'er  the  shoulder  for  a  prick 
Above  the  shanks.    For  fine  distinctions,  Basil,  thanks. 
Although  I  have  retired  my  feet  are  sore 
As  if  I  fled.    Who  thought  Hisbaye  had 
So  many  wretched  roads'?    No  enemy 
Could  find  us  in  this  labyrinth. 
The  pebbles  would  defeat  him  handily 
As  David's  did  the  boasting  Philistine. 

"Upon  his  head  they  smote,  not  on  his  feet!" 

"Why,  this  is  like  thy  argument!    If  head, 
Or  tail  ye  make  it,  'tis  the  same.    O,  man! 
I'll  cool  my  feet.    Then  boot  before  the  first 
Assembly  call. 

"Ho,  Basil,  do  ye  know 
This  ground?" 

"It  is  the  field  of  Ramilles." 


80 
"Did  they  retire  those  days?    When  was  it,  then?" 

"Two  hundred  years  and  more,  by  eight  or  ten. 
There,  Marlborough  did  avance,  I  ween; 
While  Villeroi  did  scurry  o'er  these  hills." 


'Why,  I'm  for  Marlborough,  then  whoe'er  he  was." 
"An  Englishman — a  Dutch  and  German  host 
Was  on  his  side." 

"And  Velleroi?" 

"Frenchman 
Was  he,  and  backed  by  Spain." 

"Now,  then,  I  know 

Thou  hast  it  mixed — a  German  on  the  side 
Of  England?    That's  not  natural.     'Tis  off 
Thy  sights.     You're  shooting  wild." 

"  'Twas  shot  aright. 
The  Germans  then  were  on  the  English  side." 

"Call,  ye,  that  Marlborough  now,  and  bid  him  speed 

The  English  on,  or  on  their  side  again 

They'll  find  new  German  hosts — their  hinter-side." 

"Twas  told  us  here  we'd  league  with  England,  days  ago. 

"I've  scotched  three  Germans  since.    That  do  I  swear. 
But  had  I  slaughtered  ten,  us  each  the  same, 
They'd  still  outnumber,  ten  to  one,  the  whole 
Of  us. 

"The  uhlans  gallop  on  our  flank 
Sweeping  their  clumsy  lance  and  running  through 
The  weary  and  the  wounded  ones.    There'll  be 


81 

More  running  yet  today.    To  Waterloo  ? 
ToBiverDyle?    To  Malines?    Who  knows'? 
Hisbaye's  woodland  wakens  to  the  gun 
Long  ere  the  drowsy  coot  hath  dreamed  of  sun. 
So  leaps  to  flight  the  sore-pricked  fugitive 
Nay,  all  that  horror  or  despair  let  live ! 

"The  camp  doth  wake.     Yon  tremulous  bugle  wound 
Eings  o'er  Bamilles'  ancient  battle  ground. 
Hither  the  staff,  the  heavy  rank  and  file 
Drag  halting  feet  to  cudgeling  defile, 
Toward  dust-lorn  plain,  toward  thorny  underwood ; 
Where  e'er  the  chance  for  fresh  baptismal  blood. 
Whether  retire — O,  God — or  whether  flee, 
Thy  succor  cometh  like  eternity!" 


"Where  be  the  English?     Where  the  French,  Monet? 

A  week  since,  armies  mustered  at  Dinant, 

Thence  by  the  Meuse  not  far  into  Brabant. 

Our  poet  fancy  long  picked  Waterloo 

Where  victory  should  crash  her  battles  through. 

There'll  be  no  'gagement  there,  for  Von  Bulow 

Doth  creep  upon  Namur,  as  done  at  Leige — 

Our  second  fortress  raked  by  bitter  siege. 

And  France?    Still  at  Dinant?    The  English,  where? 

The  channel  fleet,  be  it  mirage  or  air  ? 

"This  day  a  stroke  we  hazard  toward  the  south 
To  ease  the  stress  that  blocketh  Sambre  mouth. 
Beyond  Eghezee  or  Noville  we  strike 
By  fell  surprise  to  split  a  plunging  lance. 
Thus  we  renew  the  spirit  of  our  troops 
Which  'neath  the  constant  flying  sadly  droops  ; 
Thus  give  these  piteous  fugitives  a  day 
Of  grace;  clear  highways  for  our  vanishment. 


82 

Tomorrow  back  we  speed  to  river  Dyle 

To  lend  new  heart's  blood  free  of  taint  or  guile. 

"Led  by  the  Death 'shead  Hussars,  from  Hasselt, 
The  Prussian  arms  make  head  against  Louvain. 
Von  Kluck  doth  plunge  the  northern  Belgian  plain ; 
Gaunt  death  and  burning  lope  along  his  march. 
Lean  scourgers  leap  for  blood  as  Rhenish  wine. 
They  gulp  its  flow.    They  slay  us  uncondine. 
Blood-drunkenness  doth  urge  to  wolfish  hate — 
The  sane  could  not  be  thus  deliberate! 

"Our  maids  through  virgin  breasts  lie  pinned  to  ground 

To  mend  the  lust-love  of  some  letcher-hound 

Our  temples  fall,  our  dear  cathedrals  reel, 

And  what  the  future  hath  the  heart  may  not  reveal. 

So  filter  tales  that  out  of  horror  creep, 

Low  as  the  hell  that  will  not  let  us  sleep. 

Well  stands  the  soul,  made  witness  to  this  thing, 

A  mad-cap,  stricken,  mute,  and  muttering! 

On  into  Tirlemont!     To  Eghezee! 

Bv  better  blood  we  wash  our  curse  away. 


. . 


Aye,  warn  the  civil  populace  again 
To  "patience  'gainst  the  harsh  invader's  lance. 
How  little  they  may  do,  God  knows.    Pain,  death 
Fleet  follows  on't,  lies  it  but  feather  weight. — " 

"Ah,  Charles.    Here  droops  a  group  most  pitiful!! 

"Oh,  wee  exhausted  mother  with  her  babes! 
Oh  tattered  little  shoes!     How  many  miles, 
Think  ye,  they've  faltered  hither  in  the  night — 
The  guttered  dark?     Poor  little  curls, 
Whiter  than  carded  flax,  more  soft  than  wool 
Pillow  thee  on  the  stones,  thou  little  ones — 
Would  this  not  force  the  lion-heart  a  groan?" 


83 
"Here,  thou  man  o'  the  boots!    Where  is  thy  troop?" 

"I  served  as  sentry,  sire.    So  quick  we  broke 
The  camp,  I'm  straggling." 

"Well,  can  ye  drive 
A  car?" 

"I  can,  the  devil  knows." 

"Eight,  right! 

Leave  out  the  devil!  Here's  a  bit  of  heaven  we 
Must  save." 

"Poor  things!    I  heard  the  least  one  sob; 
The  mother  crying  in  the  night," 

"And  went 
Not  to  them,  fool?" 

"I  was  on  duty,  sire. 
I  e'en  was  seeking  when  ye  came  to  halt." 

'Take  this  script  unto  the  commissariat. 

Make  speed!     Sleep-fettered  as  she  lies,  lift  up 

This  treasure  with  her  babes.    To  Tappaneau  make  haste, 

By  Mont  St.  Guilbert's  town.    Bestow 

Them  to  my  mother's  charge.     Canst  find  the  way? 

"Why  any  road  in  Belgium's  mapped  complete 
Behind  my  eye." 

"Off  with  thee,  and  'tis  well. 
Nay,  ease  the  countess'  mind  of  me  and  say: 
I  shall  be  home,  God  willing,  presently." 

"And  I  return  by  noon,  if  so  we  fight; 

If  run,  by  faith,  I'll  lag  beyond  tonight."  '"  •     j 


84 

"Good  man!    Come  back;  this  day  we  fight.    We've  found 

A  lodgement  of  the  enemy  at  Eghezee. 

Now,  not  a  word!    We'll  drive  them  out  like  rats!" 


" Behold  our  sentry  o'  the  boots,  Monet! 
Tis  afternoon,  and  late.    We'll  rally  him. 
Here,    sir. 

"How  comes  ye  show  not  till  the  fight 
Is    done? 

"What  sport  you've  missed — what  rare  degree! 
They  fled  like  rabbits  to  their  holes,  and  thence 
With  bayonet  and  pike  we  pryed  them  forth, 
Yelling  like  swine  in  shambles  foul.    White,  white 
Before,  nor  whiter  when  their  veins  were  dry 
And  all  their  blood  leapt  on  the  sucking  soil." 

"The  fighting's  done!     Oh,  God!" 

"Ye  heard  me!    Done! 

With  half  the  force,  we  hurled  five  heavy  troops 
From  bivouac  at  Eghezee.     The  while 
At  Tirlemont  we  beat  two  thousand  off, 
Like  buzzing  flies.     Ere  noon  ye  promised  us — 
Why  Tappaneau  is  scarce  twelve  miles  by  road!" 

"Road  or  no  road,  'twas  clean  through  hell  and  back! 
Let  that  same  hell  forbid  me  such  a  course 
Forevermore ! 

"The  highway's  but  a  sea 
Of  fugitives!    The  fields  a  littered  swamp 
Of  souls — of  pawing,  roaring  bulls — stray  lambs — 
Red-eyed  children — women  who  have  forgot 
The  cool  relief  of  tears. 


85 

"I  saw  a  bluff 

Walloon,  his  pig  tucked  'neath  his  arm,  his  shirt 
Half  off  from  the  kicking  boar,  fighting  amain 
A  Flemmin  who  swung  aloft  his  favorite  cock 
By  one  tawn  leg — his  battle-axe! 

"The   cause? 

One  would  flee  west,  the  other  north.     The  roads 
Did  cross,  and  neither,  on  his  life,  would  yield 
An  inch  to  'tother.    Nay,  he  had  no  inch 
To  yield.     And  so  I  pressed  upon  their  strife 
Till  each  escaped  with  only  half  his  life. 
And  would  ye  see  inferno,  come  take  that  ride 
With  me." 

"Forgive  us,  boy,  we  rallied  thee, 
Who  better  would  have  mingled  tears  with  thee. 
And  did  ye  then  reach  Tappaneau  and  leave 
Thy  precious  burden  there? 

"Yea,  sire.     The  gate 

Of  heaven  was  wide  upon  them  when  they  waked 
And  so  the  raptured  lady  cried.     'Twas  worth 
The  chance  of  battle,  quite  to  see  the  joy 
Of  that  wee  family — the  mothering 
They  got — the  petting  o'  the  little  ones. 

"That  monstrous  gray  old  grenadier 

Who  holds  thy  gate  did  help  them  gentle  out. 

One  to  a  shoulder,  he   did  bear  them  in, 

And  she  thy  mother  calls  'Mon  Crystal'  Oh — 

And  with  what  smiles,  she  sobbed  above  them!     Sworn 

Had  I,  they  were  her  own,  from  shipwreck  borne. 

"So  I  am  come,  and  bring  a  heavier  load 
Of  love  than  that  I  bore  to  Tappaneau." 


86 

"Boy,  dost  thou  see  yon  thicket  toward  the  east 

That  tops  the  hill  sharp  to  the  river's  edge? 

If  ye  can  make  reconnoisance  as  well 

As  ye  have  done  since  morn,  and  there  reveal 

The  meaning  of  those  languid  clouds  of  dust 

That  slant  the  horizon  far,  then  both,  indeed, 

Together  will  we  recommend  the  cross 

Of  honor  for  thee,   'neath  the  Belgian  arms." 

"Oh,  sire!    Oh  sire!    The  cross  is  mine.    I  can." 

"Ha!     Look,  Monet!     The  hill— Our  boy!     He's  down! 

"Nay,  but 

He  goeth  up.     Close  to  the  thicket  now. 
And  yet  I  think  he's  sighted  from  the  sound." 

"There  was  a  Belgian,  every  inch  of  him! 

The  cross  sits  well  on  him,  and  all  his  kind." 
The  soil  breeds  legions  of  them,  Charles — 

"Boy,  boy! 

Not  in  the  open  there!     Take  cover.     Oh, 
Again ! — 

"Oh  cursed  hail!    Now  like  the  wind 
He  comes.     He's  spent  with  running  quite.     Monet, 
Give  hand." 

"Swart  columns  of  the  German  host 
Did  stretch  beyond  my  sight.     Strong  infantry, 
Flanked  by  enormous  guns  and  all  the  trap 
Of  war  and  seige,  are  hither  on  the  march. 
Ah,  general,  go  up  and  fight — I'm  through. 
I  have  a  soft  shot  'neath  the  ribs  doth  bid 


87 

Me  home.    A  wooden  cross  tomorrow  's  all 
I  need — but  send  the  gold  one — after  while 
To  little  Rita  by  the  river  Dyle — 
'Twill  comfort  her.     Vive  la  Baelgae,  Ho! — : 


. . 


With  bugle  and  with  guns  a  solemn  peal 
Kind  requiem  and  honor  here  bestow. 
To  which  end  call  a  troop.    Give  this  dear  flesh 
Most  reverent  burial.    Enroll  his  name 
Upon  the  scroll  of  glory  for  the  cross 
He  earned,  forgetting  not  who  soon  must  weep 
A  flood  that  doth  outweigh  the  Dyle.    We  reap 
All  benefit  of  this  true  sacrifice. 

"Yet,  to  discretion  hardy  valor  flies, 
Under  the  plan  prescribed  by  Belgia's  king, 
And  by  postponement  learns  to  wield  a  stroke 
More  terrible  than  lies  upon  this  boy. 

"  Beside  his  closing  grave  retreat  must  sound, 
But,  till  he  gain  that  rest,  we  hold  our  ground. 
After,  we  move  to  join  the  French  at  Waterloo 
Where  I  shall  praise  our  warrior  to  his  due. 
Sound,  ye,  the  horn." 


PAET  VI. 


BETRAYAL 

"Mon  Crystal,  how  lies  it  from  Tirlemont? 
Might  one  hear  guns  so  far?    Repeatedly, 
This  hour  or  more,  methinks  our  windows  jar 
To  far,  far  thunder.     Still,  a  storm  doth  brew, 
And  there  be  lightenings  south  by  east." 

"Madame, 

Ye  hear  the  voiec  of  guns  that  open  on 
Namur.  The  star-shells  of  the  enemy 
Do  blind  the  lightenings  out. 

"Upon  the  lawn 

My  collie  moans  and  howls  and  points  the  moon. 
The  wild  call  o'  the  wilderness  upon 
Him  laid — the  faint  reek  o'  the  nascent  blood 
Sweeps  down  the  gale.    They  say  a  soul  doth  sleep 
When  dogs  do  howl.    Ah,  what  a  howling  were 
Tonight,  if  that  sad  myth  were  true." 

"God  wills! 

God  wills!  The  old  crusader's  cry  doth  stop 
On  emptiness  tonight!  My  Charles  doth  fight 
A  host  at  Tirlemont — the  pity  on't. 

"Is  all  bestowed  with  safety,  Crystal  dear? 
Moans  one  poor  fugitive  unfed?" 

"I  left  those  babes 
Asleep,  safe  in  my  father's  cot,  beside 
The  Roman  wall.    All  seemed  so  huddled  here. 
The  mother  broodeth  them,  sad,  sad  of  soul. 


89 

An  hour  I  spent  in  twining  up  their  curls 
Till  laughter  found  them  as  they  cuddled  down; 
The  guns  to  them  like  voice  of  summer  showers, 
A  sound  to  slumber  by." 

"Christ    pity    them." 

"The  panic  of  the  people,  oh  'tis  terrible! 
The  church  is  full  in  Mont  St.  Guilberts  town, 
Where  women  cling  and  struggle  for  the  rail 
About  the  shrine,  as  though,  bewrecked,  they'd  thrust 
Each  other  from  the  Rock  of  Ages.     Oh, 
The  prayers  I  heard!    I  could  not  linger  there." 

"Comfort  ye,  comfort  ye,  my  people,  saith  the  Lord. 
Ah,  Crystal,  we  have  borne  the  cross  this  day. 
We  bear  the  cross. 

"My  Caroline,  my  pet, 

She's  searching,  searching  what  raked  battlefield; 
Under  the  hail  of  shell  to  bind  the  shattered  arm. 
'Tis  such  a  task — a  task. 

"Yea,  dim  the  lights, 
And  let  me  find  the  comfort  of  thine  arms. 
We  may  not  sleep — we  can  not!" 

"Hark!     I  hear, 

I  hear  a  sound  more  sweet  than  soughing  winds 
That  plow  the  isles  of  pearl — a  siren  sound, 
A  horn  I  know.    My  father,  yon,  doth  creak 
The  opening  castle  gate.     Oh,  Charles  is  home, 
Dear  Mother  Tappaneau!    He's  home!" 

"My  boy, 

Out  of  the  wreck  of  battle  have  they  thus 
Delivered  thee?" 


90 

"Mother,  we  do  sweep  back 
To  cluster  round  the  king — to  lift  a  wall 
Of  safety  to  his  majesty,  and  to 
His  realm.    He'll  take  command  of  all  the  force 
That  daily  groweth  huge.    Then  will  we  fight 
As  lions  all,  and  know  the  end  of  flight. 
Five  thousand  French  be  come  to  Waterloo, 
Vanguard  of  all  to  follow." 

"Crystal,  dear, 

Goodly  report  of  thee  I've  heard — how  thou 
Hast  soothed  the  terror  of  the  fugitive, 
And  hearten  well  the  faltering.     Come  here. 
My  mother,  may  I  kiss  her  for  reward?" 

"An  ve  kiss  her  not,  my  boy,  in  such  a  cause, 
I'll  disinherit  thee." 

"O  Charles,  Charles,  Charles! 
Why  Charles!    Madame  Tappaneau,  can  ye  not  rescue  me!" 

"And  when  I  would,  thou  might  receive  the  greater  kissing, 

(dear." 

"Ah,  my  dear — nay,  both  my  dears,  th'  inclosing  lines 

Of  safety  fall  behind  thee  now;  and  yet 

There's  time  to  flee,  before  the  huge  advance 

O'erflow  us  here.    If  at  the  break  of  dawn 

Ye  leave,  ye  have  our  aid;  but  after,  'tis 

The  mercy  of  the  foe  and  naught,  naught  else 

Must  save.    Ye  must  decide." 

"So  much  I've  seen 
Of  flying  and  distress,  I  dare  not  trust 
Myself,  e'en  had  I  wings,  to  flight.     Beside, 
Dear  Charles,  here  crouch  a  weak,  defenceless  flock, 


91 

To  leave  them  so  were  like  a  coward's  trick — 

A  fleeing  shepherd  'fore  the  wolf — a  base 

Foul  captain  o'  the  deep,  to  lifeboat  crept 

The  first  of  all — whose  neck  should  grace  his  yards, 

Whose  name  be  blotted  from  the  log  foraye. 

"My  boy,  unto  may  people  leave  me  now, 

And  if  I  die,  I  die.    See,  I  am  old 

But  unafraid.    The  cross  doth  shield  me  yet!" 

"But  what  of  Crystal!    Ah,  her  hair  is  gold!" 

"She  doth  appeal  to  all  the  best  in  man, 
And  ne'er  the  worst." 

"Think  not  but  clear  I  see 
My  place  appointed,  Charles.     It  lieth  here. 
There's  no  regretting  it,  and  no  such  wish." 

"Then,  have  ye  everything  disposed?" 

"I   have. 

Behold  the  kindly  king's  acknowledgement 
For  quite  two  million  pounds  in  British  gold; 
The  half  of  our  estates.     The  balance,  son, 
Is  on  the  deep  to  seek  protection  of 
The  Stars  and  Bars  across  the  sea. 


. . 


;Ah,  yes, 

I  sold  the  whole  of  our  possessions  with  a  pang 
For  that  we  loved — stables,  kennels,  kine, 
Fowl,  grains  and  implements.    They're  gone. 
Poor  Crystal's  collie  is  the  lonely  last. 
He's  spent  the  night  in  howls  most  dismal  long. 

"And  have  ye  sold  the  wine?" 


92 

" The  first  of  all; 

And  so  prevailed  that  all  the  countryside 
Has  done  the  same." 

"How  wise  that  council  now! 
For  sober  men  are  like  to  heed  the  law. 
But  what  a  curse  is  drink  to  such  an  hour ! 
The  f anged  beasts  must  shrink  aloof  from  man, 
Where  no  apeal  to  honor  may  avail. 

"My  two  sweethearts,  after  my  own,  how  may 
I  leave  thee?    How  depart?     Save  my  command 
And  all  the  king  doth  from  it  hope,  I'd  come 
And  die  with  thee,  at  morn,  or  eve,  or  noon, 
Whene'er  the  summons  come." 

"We  know  it,  Charles. 
We  both  do  know  it,  all  these  tender  years." 

"Yon  booming  guns  spell  doom  to  old  Namur, 
And  thousand  needs  do  wrench  our  action  forth. 
Monet,  impatient,  winds  the  urgent  horn ; 
Soon  o'er  the  quaking  lindens  creeps  the  morn! 
Farewell, 

"Farewell, 

"Farewell,  O  ye  forlorn! 
O  ye  forsaken  souls." 

"Oh  God,  prepare 

Our  tables  now!    Our  bitter  cup  o'erflows!    Dear  Christ, 
We  droop  in  presence  of  our  enemies 
Alone!" 


So  in  the  strong  light  of  the  dawn 
The  German  host  came  on  to  Tappaneau 


93 

With  mighty  clang — a  regiment  of  horse — 
And  Thurberwald  with  throttled  inward  curse, 
Threw  wide  the  gates  with  harsh,  reluctant  speed; 
Then  stood  gigantic,  statuesque 
Before  the  officers. 

"Dost  thou  resist, 
Old  hound?"  in  halting  French,  cried  one.    "Beware!" 

"Our  gate  is  wide.    Ye  enter  as  ye  will. 

But  if  my  ancient  pike  offend,  and  seem 

The  least  to  bar  thee,  here  I  yield  it  up. 

Deal  kindly  as  ye  may  within  our  courts 

Where  yonder  aged  lady  waits  the  will 

Of  conquerors.    The  castle's  thine.    One  guard 

Alone  am  I — the  rest  have  fled.    But  if 

Of  harm  ye  dream,  sirs,  slay  me  first.     I  could 

Ne'er  bear  to  see  my  mistress  die." 

"Advance 

Ye  officers  of  staff.    Touch  not  this  man — 
One  true  retainer  to  his  ancient  schloss, 
Whom  nothing  conquers  in  the  soul  of  him. 
Would  there  were  more  whom  reason  dominates 
In  times  like  these  that  try  men's  souls. 
The  rest  of  ye  take  yonder  field.     Make  camp 
Beyond  the  ruined  wall.    Avoid  thee  well 
The  thicket  and  harsh  brush  that  gainst  it  lean. 

Within  the  walls  a  strict  accounting  take. 
Search  all  that  may  of  service  be. 

' '  Madame, 
We  trouble  thee.    Can  ye  speak  aught  but  French?" 

"Thy  German  lies  as  fluent  on  my  tongue 
As  on  thine  own.    If  ye  prefer,  speak  on." 


94 

"Delighted  so.     'Twill  vastly  ease  a  task 
That  oft,  too  oft,  doth  take  the  brutal  turn. 
We're  pleased  with  thy  retainer  and  with  these 
Thy  attitudes.    Would  all  the  world  did  speak 
The  German,  or  some  fairer  tongue.    Indeed, 
'Twould  matter  not.     The  curse  of  babel  doth 
Enthrall  us  all  too  long. 

"Enough  of  that 
The  castle  must  be  searched,  so  pleasure  thee." 

"Staugaard,  thy  keys — 

"And  yet  I  warn  thee,  sire, 
So  far  as  possible  have  I  disposed 
My  goods — Oh,  not  to  rob  ye  of  a  prize 
Warlike  and  plentiful— but  provident 
Unto  my  own  and  to  our  royal  king. 
I  trust  ye  understand." 

"Madame,  we're  not 

Concerned  with  that— the  thing's  not  personal. 
What  falleth  prize,  it  we  retain;  but  that 
Which  is  disposed,  well  stands  thy  gain." 

"Staugaard, 

Show  every  door,  and  crypt,  and  vault,  and  hall 
That  in  the  castle  lies;  and,  showing  all, 
If  these  men  ask,  respond  as  unto  me, 
Till  all  be  satisfied." 

"Madame,  I  take 
Thy  word." 

"Ah,  no!     Lead  on  thy  strictest  search. 
I  must  have  quittance  by  thy  hand  and  seal 
To  show  all  searchers  subsequent.     'Twill  save 


95 

Undue  and,  mayhap,  scornful  prying  at 
Our  doors." 

"  Quite  true.    What  things  we  take,  we  take, 
And  leave  thee  peace,  unless,  of  course,  the  schloss 
Somehow  might  serve  some  military  need." 

"To  that  am  I  resigned.     This  courteous  mede 
Of  dignity  shall  ease  my  bitter  cross. — 

"Ah,  Crystal,  fortunate  it  fell  to  us 
That  we  could  thus  employ  the  native  tongue 
Of  these  invaders.     Saved  is  our  home  at  least, 
Which  might  have  fed  some  fire-fiend's  feast." 

So  while  that  regiment  was  close  encamped, 

Was  Tappaneau  in  peace.    Another  came; 

And  yet  another  came,  day  after  day. 

A  strained  and  deathlike  quietude 

Hung  breathless  in  the  halls,  while  evermore 

At  old  Namur  did  cannon  heave  and  roar. 


Back,  back  through  Waterloo  across  the  plain 

The  Belgians  battled  on  to  fair  Louvain. 

From  Erschot — where  was  awful  slaughter  done, 

And  vile  atrocities,  beyond  the  name — 

Thither,  full-strengthed,  triumphant  hussars  came. 

The  king  from  Brussels  town  to  Antwerp  sped, 
And  took  the  field  and  drew  his  kingly  blade; 
And  there  was  fighting  then,  after  the  days 
Of  old.    Yea,  there  was  rallying  of  hosts, 
And  swift  forays — stroke  here,  stroke  there, 
Along  the  river  Dyle.    While  ever  swelled 
The  cohorts  of  the  king. 


96 

But  France  came  not 

And  England  hung  delayed,  while  out  the  east, 
Tremendous  file  on  file,  the  armies  rolled ; 
Tremendous  rank  on  rank  to  slaughter  went, 
And  still  pressed  on. 

So  fell  Louvain,  and  fire 
And  devastation  and  despair  were  out 
And  raging  everywhere 

Toward  Malines 

The  good  king  made  a  stand  and  threw  his  best 
Against  the  tide — amid  them,  valiant  Charles 
Of  Tappaneau.    Day  long  they  strove  and  drave 
The  hussars  back  upon  Louvain;  spilled  blood 
Enough  to  quench  its  withering  fires;  and  slew 
Enough  to  wall  it  with  the  dead. 

Vain,  vain 

All  sacrifice — the  roaring  guns,  the  strife. 
The  blade  of  war  had  turned,  the  crucifixion  knife. 

When  all  their  strength  was  done,  and  day  was  spent, 
And  toward  the  south  the  sullen  foe  took  tent, 
Monet  of  Hainaut  searched  that  fatal  ground 
To  find  his  Charles  in  blood  of  mortal  wound. 

Nor  he,  nor  any  else,  was  left  to  die, 
But  from  the  field,  'tis  said,  most  tenderly, 
Half-blind  in  tears  Monet  did  carry  him; 
And  sent  him  safe  away  to  Brussels  town 
To  lie  for  weary  months  on  life's  dim  verge, 
Beyond  the  sound,  or  caring  for  the  serge 
Of  armies  near  and  far;  nor  shouting  hosts, 
Nor  camps,  nor  beacon  fires;  the  bitter  boasts, 


97 

The  tumults,  and  the  taunts;  the  innocents 
Who  fell  a  sacrifice  to  woes  immense. 


And  on  that  selfsame  field,  but  mid  the  foe, 

Another  wounded  man  lay  pallid  in  the  mighty  arms 

Of  Carl  of  Baden — and  'twas  Weber. 

Strange, 

By  turn  of  fate,  a  later  day  by  one, 
When  Brussels  fell  unto  the  foe,  did  Carl 
Unto  the  very  hospital,  unto 
The  ward  of  Tappaneau,  bring  in  his  friend ; 
And  left  him  there  in  charge  of  one  the  world 
Doth  know — whom  evermore  the  English  call 
Cavell — who  now  hath  sacred  monuments 
In  many  lands. 

Dumbfounded  there  and  sad 
The  nobleman,  compassionately  down, 
Did  gaze  on  languid  Tappaneau, 
On  both  his  friends,  so  feverish  and  low. 
And  took  he  both  their  hands,  and  held  them  close. 
And  Charles  looked  up,  as  through  red  mist,  and  smiled:— 
"We  did  not  think  to  welcome  thee  so  soon 
In  fair  Brabant,  Mien  Carl;  but  short  as  'twas, 
We've  gi'en  the  warmest  that  we  had." 

"My  God," 
Said  Carl,  and  could  not  smile. 

"My  days  be  done, 

Old  friend,  and  like  the  grass,  so  shall  I  soon 
Be  withering.    Oh,  'tis  our  little  span  cut  short 
The  veriest  trifle,  Carl!    Let  be! 

"How  do  ye  go? 
By  and  chance,  might  ye  pass  Tappaneau?" 


98 


., 


We  go,  I  hear,  an  instant  blow  to  strike 
At  Charleroi  or  Mons,  at  least;  but  true. 
The  destinies  of  armies  lie  in  hands 
More  high  than  mine." 


"But  if  ye  may,  O  Carl! 
But  if  ye  may — " 


"Aye,  by  the  grace  of  God, 
I  will. 

"And  say  to  mother  how  I  rest 
Quite  gently,  here  in  Brussels  town;  and  wake 
With  morning  happy  every  day — all  that — 
And  look  toward  Tappaneau.     Say  Caroline 
Doth  guard  me  till  I  mend,  and  all  is  safe. 
And,  when  she  may,  bid  her  send  Crystal  down 
With  something  tempting  from  St.  Guilberts  town. 
I  know  her  heart,  and  well  I  know  she'll  bring 
The  late  blue-bells  that  bloom  in  Hisbaye 
Along  the  uplands.     She  can  lay  them  down 
Upon  my  grave — if  there  be  grave-room  left." 
Then  Carl  of  Baden  groaned,  and  wrung  his  hand 
And  fled  the  hospital,  and  turned  his  face 
Toward  Tappaneau. 


And  so  the  tide  of  conquest,  at  its  flood, 
Rolled  high  along  to  dash  the  French  Frontier, 
Nor  stopped  before  the  Marne.    And  all  the  land 
Of  Belgium  out  the  pale  of  Antwerp  town 
Fell  to  the  enemy. 

Vast  hoards  of  wealth 

Were  gathered  in  to  swell  the  spoils  of  war; 
And  there  were  found  base  spies  that  crept 


99 

Among  their  fellows,  like  lewd  worms,  to  drag 
Their  secret  living  forth  to  waste  and  loss; 
While,  sharp  upon  the  heel  of  war,  spurred  loot, 
And  terror,  and  betrayel  foul.     And  to 
That  trough  of  spoils  went  all  the  soulless  troop 
Of  swine  and  parasites  that  earth  doth  breed. 

Of  many  Belgian  towns,  St.  Guilbert  fared 
The  best ;  and  mid  the  strife,  did  Tappaneau 
Escape  until  a  day. 

"How  went  the  night, 

Mon  Thurberwald,"  the  countess  at  the  dawn 
Asked  of  her  ancient  guard.    "Methought  the  guns 
Boomed  quieter,  the  battle  gone  afar." 

"Men  say  Namur  is  razed;  but  here  'twas  calm, 
Save  for  the  monstrous  armaments  and  trains, 
And  hideous  guns  that  ever  roll  the  plains 
Of  Waterloo. 

"Yes,  it  was  calm  enough, 
Save  at  the  dusk,  when  I  did  bear  the  food 
Down  to  those  pretty  lambs  and  their  sweet  dam. 
Who  home  them  in  my  cot.     There  countered  I 
That  Niels  de  Rode  who  to  the  thicket  skulked. 
Forth  thence  I  dragged  him  and  did  kick  him  sound 
And  heartily  for  that  low  scum  he  is." 

"I'm  sorry  thou  didst  kick  him  Thurberwald." 

"The  knave  was  peering  o'er  the  wall  to  eye 
My  Crystal  with  her  collie  on  the  lawn — 
The  hound!" 

"Yes,  hound  is  just;  but  when  we  have 
So  many  potent  enemies  about; 


100 

When  death  hangs  on  a  wink  of  eye,  a  curl 
Of  lip,  a  lifted  thumb,  a  shrug,  why  then 
'Tis  better  far  to  bear  than  to  offend." 

"I  fear  him  not." 

"Nor  I.     But  what  he  may 
In  malice  do,  that  stands  another  tale. 
How  glad  am  I  to  see  our  peasantry 
Return  to  toil  a-field,  a  trifle  soothed 
Of  terror's  reign." 

"I'm  sorry  for  my  rage 
Madame. 

"Now  come  still  other  regiments 
To  make  their  camp  upon  our  fields.     'Tis  well 
The  harvest's  past  to  autumn  gray  when  help 
Above  or  help  below  doth  swing  so  far 
Away." 


"Up,  Crystal  mine,  and  break  thy  morning  fast. 
My  own  hand  serves,  most  frugal,  thy  repast. 
So  ludicrous  this  pinch  of  penury 
To  us  who  have  three  fortunes  o'er  the  sea. 
Bewry  the  smile  that  scorns  our  scanty  board 
And  dream  of  plenty  from  our  vanished  hoard, 
One  way  or  'tother  all  must  soon  be  o'er." 

"Why  here's  vast  plenty,  Mother  Tappaneau!" 
"Yes,  for  today." 

"Sufficient  to  the  day — 
How  speaks  the  holy  writT' 


101 

"The  evil,  dear 
The  good,  ah,  what  of  it!" 

"We'll  trust  that  too: 
4  Thy  Father  knoweth  ye  have  need  of  these!'  " 

"Oh,  faith!    Oh  strong  who  love  in  Belgium  sees!" 

"Last  night  I  dreamed  that  from  the  bivouac 

And  battled  camps  had  Charles  returned, 

And  lay  most  peaceful  in  his  bed,  at  ease, 

In  Albert's  halls  —  methought  —  in  Brussels  town. 

I  bent  above  him  and  he  looked  so  tired, 

So  worn  that  in  my  dream  I  sobbed  and  waked." 


" 


That  minds  me,  Crystal,  'tis  his  birthday,  just 
Today.    To  our  true  custom,  as  of  old, 
The  rite  of  Godfrey's  shield  will  we  observe. 
In  fancy,  brighter  than  the  sun,  to  Charles 
Will  we  present  the  huge  crusader's  arms. 
So  when  thou'rt  ready  will  we  burnish  them 
And  deck  the  halls  as  for  a  diadem." 

"I  wonder  might  I  find  some  autumn  flowers 
Along  the  Roman  wall.  The  blue-bells  bloom, 
I  know,  in  Hisbaye.  Charles  loved  them  so!" 

"Oh  go  not  forth  alone.  The  Prussian  camp 
Lies  close  beyond." 

"I  have  my  collie.     He's 
The  king  of  all  his  kind.    I  go  not  far — 
Now,  where  is  he?    I  see  my  father  stride 
Before  the  courtyard  gate  and  there  he  loves 
To  lie  at  guard  for  me. 

"Ah  well  we'll  wait; 

And  I  shall  brighten  well  the  sword  arid  shield 
And  drape  the  hidden  flags  before  I  go. 


102 

"The  sword's  not  heavy  like  the  two-hand  blades 
The  late  crusaders  bore.     I  play  it — see — 
Quite  valiantly  myself. 

"And  now  the  shield. 
So  tempered  'tis  it  ringeth  like  a  bell. 
It  might  sound  forth  alarm.     It  might  sound  knell. 
Here  lies  a  dent  across  the  ducal  arms. 
How  was  it  hewn  in  what  untold  alarms'? — " 

"Oh,  Crystal,  lay  it  down!    Oh!    Quiet  thee! 
Just  now  I  heard  a  sound — a  frightful  sound! 
There!  now  again — just  in  our  gates.     Foul  hell's 
Cut  loose  and  we  are  lost!     It  is  the  foe! 
The  slaughter  of  the  foe!" 

"Look,  look!     The  gate! 
Where  flies  the  little  mother  of  the  babes — 
The  pretty  babes  that  Charles  sent  home !    I  see 
Naught  else — naught  else !    She 's  raving  mad,  and  oh, 
The  clutching  of  her  hair.    Her  lovely  hair! 
Out  to  her.    Fly!    Where  now  she  staggers  in 
The  court." 

"Poor,  poor — " 

"Oh  murder!     God  of  Christ! 
My  babes,  my  pretty  babes!    Just  now  my  hands 
Did  hold  them.    Where  are  they?    Gone,  gone,  gone,  Oh! 
Oh  vile — they're  gone,  gone,  gone." 

"My  dear,  my  dear, 
There,  quiet  thee.    We'll  search  thy  babes  for  thee." 

"Oh,  oh!    Madame!    Oh,  oh!    Thou  pretty  one! 
Hide  thy  face.    Tear  out  thine  eyes!    Gouge  thee 
With  wounds  and  sores !    Oh,  little  babes !    Were  they 
Not  mine?    Oh,  were  they  not  mine  own?" 


103 

"  Speak,  speak, 
And  tell  us." 

"Oh,  I  saw  Mm  by  the  wall. 
His  hands  were  full  of  goldenrod — my  boy, 
My  little  boy — 'twas  like  his  hair,  the  flowers. 
I  went  to  fetch  him  home,  and — Oh,  my  God! 
The  skulking  hound  was  in  the  thicket  there!" 

"Thy  babe?     Oh,  lady,  try— try  to  be  calm." 

"Hound,  hound!    Oh,  'tis  too  good  a  name.    Oh,  Oh! 
The  leper,  Oh,  the  Bedouin,  if  man — 
How  could  he  be  a  man'? — 

"My  child,  because 

My  face  was  not  a  dismal,  base,  old  hag's; 
And  youth  was  mine — and  happy  with  my  babes, 
And  warm — Good  God — he  fastened  on  me!     Laid 
His  letcher  hands  upon  my  throat,  and  dragged  me  on 
Into  the  thicket.    Then,  when  my  two  babes  'gan 
To  wail,  he  ripped  a  dead  knot  from  a  thorn 
And  smote  them  down — one  by  one — one  by  one!" 

"Oh,  wretched,  wretched  deed.    He  smote  them  down? 
Make  ready,  Crystal.     Fly  to  them!" 

"No!    No! 

They're  gone;  and,  but  for  Satan,  I'd  be  there, 
And  with  them,  dead — dead!" 

"Dead!     Oh,  are  they  dead? 
Both  dead?    The  mite  with  all  the  soft  white  curls?" 

"Oh,  Christ,  Madame,  O  Mary  Mother  mine! 
Could  ye,  could  ye  not  forget  those  curls — 
Those  pretty  curls  that  had  all  heaven  wrapped 


104 

In  them?    They're  dead,  Madame,  and  there  they  lie 

Beside  thy  gate,  where  like  colossus  huge 

In  rage,  doth  Thurberwald  above  them  tower. 

Oh  little  curls!  O  bloody,  knotty  mass! 

Throw  down!  Throw  down!  and  blind  these  starting  eyes, 

That  I  may  see  them  nevermore!    They  died 

Without  a  cry;  but,  oh,  my  ears  do  yell 

As  from  the  haunts  of  death. 

"Satan  was  there! 

Just  when  I  might  have  died — huge  yellow  beast, 
He  did  o'erleap  the  wall  and  set  upon 
The  man,  and  turned  the  blow  of  mercy  off 
To  force  me  live.    Oh  fiend !    O  welcome  death ! 
There  heard  I  snarls  and  groans.    I  saw  them  roll 
Together  on  the  ground.     And  up  I  rose 
And  gathered  my  two  dead  babes  and  fled, 
And  laid  them  there — 

"Oh  there  the  foul  beast  comes 
Again — back  to  devour   them  in  my  sight. 
Help !    Help !    Oh  rescue  them !    May  I — may  I 
Not  bury  them?" 

"Oh  poor,  poor  mother,  see, 
It  is  my  collie!    Now  ye  see  him  lie 
And  weep  before  thy  little  ones.     He's  crushed 
Because  his  rescue  came  o'er  late,  o'er  late." 


O  War!     What  blacker  crimes  than  thine  do  brood 
Beneath  thy  vulture  wings'?    O  gentle  faith, 
Can  ye  the  mountains  move ;  but  can  not  hurl 
The  legion  devils  from  the  soul  of  man? 


105 

In  wrath  more  just  and  terrible  than  his 

Who  swept  the  legend  gates  of  Troy,  afar 

And  near  did  Thurberwald  search  all  the  walls 

Of  Tappaneau;  his  ancient  pike  on  edge 

To  every  copse.    But  save  the  dead,  torn  branch 

Of  blackthorn  naught  he  found.    He  braved  the  camp 

Of  Prussians  sturdily;  which  firm  denied 

One  man  astray.     Some  mocked  the  grenadier 

And  few  did  care,  but  broke  their  camp  and  marched. 

So  Thurberwald  was  baffled  and  abased 

And  heavy  terror  fell  on  Tappaneau 

With  sorrow  keen,  which  knew  not  yet  its  worst. 

Lo,  with  the  eve  came  others  still  to  pitch 
Their  tents.    And  while  great  clamor  waged 
Came  Carl  of  Baden  out  from  Brussels  town 
To  seek  the  way  to  Tappaneau. 

For  that  his  heart 

Was  sad,  he  walked  beneath  the  linden  trees 
And  pondered  how  to  shape  his  bitter  news. 
With  eyes  upon  the  ground,  the  camp  did  fade 
With  all  its  noise  and  shouting.    Not  a  sound 
Did  bid  him  look  aside  where  tumbled  rose 
The  Roman  wall.     Then  on,  until  the  arch 
Which  beetled  o'er  the  huge  gates  loomed,  did  he 
Approach. 

When  well  the  angled  wall  cut  off. 
The  camp,  from  out  the  thicket  of  the  babes 
There  rose  a  form  by  dusk  invisible. 
With  devilish  glee  and  rage  deliberate, 
Clean  through  the  back,  it  shot  the  noble  down. 

"So  good  a  mark!     So  sizable!     Dear,  dear! 
One  could  not  miss.    Now  let  the  pious  pray! 


106 

The  miser  swallow  all  his  gold.    Fire,  blood 

And  burning,  as  the  dawn  upon  the  night, 

Will  heel  this  deed.    Thereby,  to  many  a  prize 

And  secret  store,  slips  Nields  de  Rode,  immune. 

I've  that  within  my  grasp  shall  ope  the  camp 

Of  vilest  Prussian  to  my  need.    Ha !    Ha ! 

Kick  now,  stuck  pig!    Farewell,  and  pleasant  dreams." 

So  Carl  of  Baden  fell  and  groaned  and  rose 

To  stagger  toward  the  gate,  while  none  at  camp 

Had  heard  the  fatal  sound.     'Twas  well. 

"My   sun 

Is  set.    His  crimson  flood  doth  bathe  me  well. 
While  dim  outlines  of  night  must  lose  all  form 
In  my  oblivion,  anon.     Help!     Help! 
I  faint!    I  faint!    Oh!  coward,  coward  shot!" 
Help,  ho!" 

And  Thurberwald,  upon  that  cry, 
Ran  forth  to  aid  and  lifted  up,  indeed, 
That  mighty  form  and  bear  him  through  the  court, 
The  hot  blood  streaming  all  the  way.    So  laid  him  low 
Within  the  halls  of  Tappaneau.     There  straight 

The  cowering  women  quit  their  fright  and  bound 
His  wound  to  stop  as  well  they  might  the  red 
And  purple  flow.    Swift  to  the  Prussian  camp 
Ran  Thurberwald  to  pray  for  instant  aid. 

For  that  a  Prussian  officer  had  need, 
Straightway  to  Tappaneau  the  surgeons  sped 
To  save  a  half  of  Carl  of  Baden's  blood 
And  order  quietude  as  slender  chance 
To  win  his  life. 


107 

Then  questioned  sternly  they 
The  ancient  guard  how  all  had  come  about. 
But  Thurberwald  knew  not  and  they  were  wroth. 
And  threatened  him  and  all  the  country  side 
With  blood  and  fire. 

But  Carl  of  Baden  roused 

Against  his  languished  blood  and  firm  declared 
It  was  but  accident,  and  bade  them  guard 
It  secret  from  the  camp. 

"But  one  did  say: — 
"The  wound  leapt  through  thy  back.    How  accident?" 

"I  lead  a  whole  division,  sir,"  roared  Carl. 
"Seldom  gainsayed.    Aye,  never  more  than  once! 
Will  ye  dispute!" 

And  so  the  man  was  cowed, 
And  ere  the  morning,  lo,  they  marched  away ; 
But  Carl  of  Baden  lay  at  Tappaneau. 


Then  came  a  regiment  of  hussars  up 

From  Arschot  and  Louvain,  where  woes  untold 

Had  fallen  on  the  innocent.    Where  men 

By  fifties  and  by  hundreds  stood  against 

The  wall  and  took  the  death-shot  hopelessly. 

These  troops  were  drunken  with  their  slaughter  still, 
And  red-eyed  with  carouse,  while  still  the  smell 
Of  burning  clung  to  them. 

There,  one  within 

A  thicket  heard  them  sing  and  shout 
Their  Bacchanalian  songs.    Wierd  cunning  dawned 


108 

Within  his  eyes  and,  on  the  dark,  he  fared 

Him  forth  to  camp  in  devilish  intent 

And  boldly  sought  the  captain  of  the  guard. 

"How  mean  ye,  Plemmin,  bursting  in  like  this?" 
Said  he  of  temporal  authority. 

"Oh,  Flemmin  am  I,  true  enough,  and  yet, 
Immune,  I  trust,  from  common  Flemish  lot, 
That  is,  the  chance  to  lean  the  wall  and  get 
Me  shot." 

"Jest  not,  ye  damned,  damned  fool!    Thy  tongue 
Will  sell  thee  to  the  devil  soon.    Doth  hell 
Need  thee?    Not  I." 

"Have  ye  a  thing  ye  call 

The  Bureau  of  Intelligence,  Herr  Captain,  please? 
Look  there,  if  ye  may  find  one  Niels  de  Bode, 
Of  Mont  St.  Guilberts  town." 

"What,  man!" 

"Of  course, 
Most  certainly." 

"You  are  a  spy?" 

"No!  No! 

For  I  prefer  intelligencer  quite. 
I've  coined  a  pretty  penny  these  two  years 
Of  private  stipend  from  thy  government. 
Do  not  say  spy.    It  jars  my  tender  ear. 
There's  little  euphony  in  spy." 

"Well  so, 

Kind  spy,  what's  in  the  wind — or  wind  in  thee? 
By  God,  I've  half  the  mind  to  prick  thee  like 
A  bubble  yet." 


109 

"Why  some  fair  quantity 
Of  ageing  wine,  a  deal  of  wheat,  a  stall 
Of  rapid  mounts,  and  fine  fat  calves,  I  might, 
If  ye 're  so  minded,  point  ye  to." 


"Whereway?" 


Behind  the  walls  of  this  old  schloss.    Say  just 
Beneath  thy  nose." 

"My  nose  may  be  at  fault. 
IVe  seldom  made  a  scurvey  prye  of  it. 
But  I've  good  eyes.    The  open  gates  and  courts 
Have  I  bescanned." 

"There  lies  the  trickery. 
Falls  it  within  thy  duties  thus  to  scan 
Or  to  examine  things  adjacent  to 
Thy  sentry  posts?" 

"With  some  discretion,  yes. 
Thy  name  recorded  here  hath  weight  by  far 
Beyond  the  measure  of  thy  method  there. ' ' 

"Then  ye  come?    Hold — Lend  me  a  uniform." 

"What!    Ye  cursed  fool!    A  uniform!    A  spy 
A  uniform?" 


"I  only  sought  disguise. 
Could  ye  suggest  aught  more  appropriate  ? 


"My  God  ye  speak  vile  German  man!    Why,  if 
I  felt  ye  meant  it  as  ye  say  it  there, 
I'd  split  ye  from  thy  navel  to  thy  crown. 


110 


, . 


I'll  hang  thee  with  the  garb  grave-diggers  wear — 
A  stinking  lot,  and  in  a  stinking  life — 
Beshrew  me,  that's  like  thee;  yet  how  to  fit 
A  form  ill-hung  as  thine,  that  buffets  me. 
'Twere  better  wear  thy  own  attire." 

"I'm  known 
There  at  the  schloss." 

"Well,  shift  thy  duds  betimes! 
This  way!  Faugh,  were  thy  name  not  well  assured, 
This  visit  were  not  long  endured.    This  way." 

"Oh  happy  thought.    Well  suits  this  somber  rig 
The  present  business  at  the  schloss.     'Twere  well 
To  add  the  shovel  of  the  digger.    Lo, 
I  know  to  certainty  the  count  hath  sold 
Enough  to  pass  twelve  million  marks  in  gold. 
The  digger's  implement  might  find  a  way 
To  open  wide  its  secret  treasury." 


At  Tappaneau,  from  digging  of  a  grave 
Wherein  he  laid  the  two  unshriven  babes, 
Came  Thurberwald  aweary  to  the  gates, 
To  stand  his  lonely  watch  in  biting  pain; 
Heart-wrung  for  her  who  lonely  raved  and  moaned 
Within  the  halls. 

The  sad,  bowed  countess  watched 
Before  the  door,  where  in  his  fever  tossed 
The  wounded  Prussian  lord,  while  Crystal's  hand 
Did  soothe  him  as  she  thought  of  drooping  Charles 
And  wondered  if  he  lived. 

Impotent,  o'er 
The  grieving  countess  by  the  guarded  door, 


Ill 

Half -burnished,  hung  the  mighty  shield  and  sword 
That  Godfrey  loved. 

Then  from  the  Prussian  camp 
Came  forth  that  squad  aspired  by  Niels  de  Rode 
To  work  foul  incest  on  the  aged  abode. 
Under  the  shuddering  lindens  silently 
They  slid  along  the  echoless  highway, 
And  came  unto  the  gates  where  Thurberwald 
Firm  challenged  them : — 

"Who,  at  unseemly  hours  like  these, 
Would  lawlessly  invade  our  liberties'? 
In  due  decorum  toward  the  laws  of  war, 
And  in  all  honor  have  we  borne  ourselves. 
Return  at  dawn.     This  stricken  hall  tonight 
Must  rest." 


"Aye,  aye,  return  to  find  at  dawn 
Pair  treasure  gone,  the  prize  bird  thither  flown." 

"Ha!    Thou!    I  know  thee,  Niels  de  Rode! 
Thou  murderer!     Now  art  thou  placed  among 
Thy  kind.    The  dog  sees  thee!    He  knows  and  I 
The  horror  of  the  thicket  and  the  wall. 
Stand  off!" 

"Ye  know  me,  Thurberwald?    Well,  meet 
My  friend,  the  spade!     'Tis  he  shalt  bury  thee. — 
And  thee,  thou  yellow  beast!     There!     There!" 

"Hold!     Now, 
What  do  ye,  striking  down  the  guard?" 

"Do,  sire! 

I  save  thee  some  explaining  to  superiors. 
Just  say  the  spy  smote  down  the  guard  and  all 
Is  said." 


112 

"Now  for  cold  wit,  thou  hast  it,  thou 
De  Rode.    What  is  a  Plemin  more  or  less ! 
Clear  opposition  spells  some  likelihood 
Of  stealth  or  strategy  about.    Lead  on." 

"Straight  to  yon  lighted  hall.    I  know  the  way 
Short  cut  from  thence  unto  the  cellarer, 
And  all  the  wine — save  me  the  Burgundy." 


. . 


Red  port  for  sport  and  pale  champaigne  for  pain, 
How  goeth  that  groggy  bard's  refrain?" 

"Staunch  that, 
Shall  I  command  or  no?    Ye  talk  like  swine!" 

"What  would  ye,  sirs,  at  such  untimely  hour? 
We  have  such  need  of  quiet  here — Oh !    Take 
That  bloody  thing  away!" 

"My  shovel?    Oh! 

Why  true  'tis  bloody  more  or  less.     Know  ye — 
Know  ye  that  half  my  business  is,  Madame, 
To  shovel  blood,  and  brains,  and  guts — " 

"O,  man, 

Speak  ye  the  Belgian  and  speak  thus  ?    Where,  where 
Have  I  heard  this  voice?" 

6  i  Nowhere,  madame.    So  hush ! 
But  I  will  set  my  shovel  by  to  please 
Thy  taste.    These  men  would  taste  thy  wine,  madame." 

"There  is  no  wine." 

"Ye  do  not  say  there  was 
No  wine?" 

Oh,  sire,  are  you  the  officer? 
May  I  show  thee  my  quittance,  sir, 


113 

And  sworn  relinquishment  of  every  store 
The  castle  held?    Will  not  that  be  enough? 
A  clamor  here  will  work  great  harm  to  thee. 
As  well  as  mock  our  true  fidelity 
To  laws  of  war." 

"Oh,  she  is  lying  there!" 
"Hold  peace,  De  Rode.    This  lady  doth  speak  fair." 

"De  Rode!" 

"Well,  just  one  test  and  we  admit 
She's  fair  and  leave.    March  ye  adown  that  hall. 
Swing  to  the  left,  then  to  the  right,  then  left 
And  down  the  corredor — so  to  the  vault 
Where  ye  shall  find  enough  of  wine  to  set 
Thy  regiment  on  end." 

"That  much  we  do, 

But  quietly.    I  warn  ye  Niels  de  Rode, 
If  naught  be  found  we'll  tap  a  spigot  on 
Thy  nose  shall  draw  the  claret  out." 

"Staugaard, 

Show  these  good  soldiers  to  the  empty  vaults. 
Come  bear  the  light  for  them." 

Thought  Niels  de  Rode: — 
"I'll  follow  on  by  fair  pretense  until 
They  lose  me  in  the  corredor,  then  back 
Will  I,  and  do  my  bit,  and  they  I  fly. 
I  heard  a  sound  axiow  behind  yon  door. 
I'd  hazard  there  lies  Crystal  Thurberwald 
And  there  will  be  a  helping  kept  for  her 
Shalt  pay  her  sire  who  kicked  me  for  a  cur." 


114 

So  filed  the  men  away,  and  so  de  Rode 
Prowled  like  a  fiend  of  hell  the  still  abode, 
Till  suddenly  his  mocking  leer  aroused 
The  countess  unto  wild  alarm. 

'  *  Madame, 

I'm  come  since  you  remember  me.     Oh  yes! 
But  memory  is  short  sometimes.    Who  hides 
Behind  that  door — or  shall  I  see?" 

"Oh,  brute, 

Oh,  savage  cur !    It  is  an  officer  in  wounds, 
Shot  foully  in  the  back." 

"Damn  me,  madame, 
Did  I  not  finish  him  ?    He  is  thy  foe 
And  mine,    I'll  do  it  now." 

"Ye  shall  not  pass 
The  door." 

"Shall  not's  a  great  word  come  from  thee. 
With  my  good  spade  I'll  dig  it  daintily." 


u 


Ho,  Thurberwald!     Ho,  Thruberwald!     Help,  ho! 


"So,  foul  hag!    Ye  squealing  swine.     Spare  that. 
Be  still!    Now  then  the  door." 

Wide  swung  the  door, 

Wide  on  that  awful  scream  and  pallid  there 
Came  Crystal  Thurberwald. 

But  while  she  paused 

With  horror  stabbed  and  swift  the  man  advanced, 
Distract  the  lady  of  the  murdered  babes 
Leapt  o'er  the  banisters  above  upon  the  head 
Of  Niels  de  Rode.    And  there  were  awful  shrieks 


115 

And  clamor  in  the  hall,  till  Niels  rose  up 
And  smote  her  into  death.    He  turned  him  round 
On  Crystal  Thurberwald  who  stood  there  still; 
But  not  the  weak  thing  of  his  thought.     In  hand, 
All  gleaming  like  the  armored  knights  of  old, 
She  held  Sir  Godfrey's  sword  of  hilted  gold; 
And  round  the  glorious  halo  of  her  hair 
She  swung  it  free  and  confident  and  fair. 

Before  her  breast  she  swept  the  tempered  shield, 
While  Niels  de  Rode  one  mighty  blow  assayed 
To  strike  it  down.     'Twas  heavy  forged.    Her  arm 
Was  strong  and  matchless  willed  and  well  upheld 
The  murderous  stroke. 

He  thought  to  fright  her  by 

Gruff  threats  and  oaths.    He  sought  to  tire  her  down. 
But  her  defence  of  old  served  well  to  save 
Against  the  brand  intended  for  the  grave; 
While  from  her  anger  never  to  be  foiled 
At  last  the  cringing  Plemin  swift  recoiled. 
Then  by  the  stair  she  cut  him  off  and  sent 
The  good  steel  home. 

At  once  with  horrid  cough 
And  groan  he  fell  to  lie  a  tumbled  heap 
Along  the  floor,  fainting  and  hopeless  wan. 
Then  came  the  angry  captain  and  his  troop 
Seeking  de  Rode  and  found  him  o'er  half  dead 
And  Crystal  standing  there  with  gleaming  sword 
And  blood  spilled  everywhere. 

Then  straight  upboiled 
The  reeling  rage  of  slaughter  in  his  soul. 

"Now,  God  in  Heaven,  what  is  this?    Revolt!" 


116 

"Aye,  call  it  what  ye  will.    There  in  her  blood 

My  mistress  lies,  and  here  the  mother  robbed 

Of  babes,  and  life,  and  heaven  by  this  foul  fiend. 

If  him  I've  slain,  by  grace  of  our  slain  Lord, 

I  do  fulfil  the  legend  of  this  sword. 

Far  better  than  the  brave  crusader's  cause 

Stands  us  to  guard  to  death  our  home's  dear  laws." 

But  up  the  roused  invader  swung  his  sword 

And  would  have  slain  her;  but  a  great  voice  rang, 

Eang  through  the  ancient  halls  of  Tappaneau 

E'en  as  it  rang  along  the  river  Dyle, 

Echoing  and  huge  with  energy  the  while, 

Until  the  whole  division  heard  it  roll 

Above  the  cannon's  unrelenting  toll; 

Harsh  as  the  bolt  on  Schwarzwald  crags 

To  him  who  quailed  and  to  him  who  lags — 

So  Carl  of  Baden — his  wound  out-streaming  new — 

Leapt  from  his  bed  to  knightly  rescue  due ; 

And  there  was  calm — a  deadly  calm  within  the  hall. 

"Well,  yank  that  carrion  hence,"  did  Carl  command. 

And  one  took  Niels  by  heel  and  dragged  him  forth, 
Spouting  his  blood  the  while. 

"Now  ye,"  said  Carl, 
Explain." 

"This  man  took  cover  'neath  our  guard 
To  get  him  in  and  do  these  murders  foul. 
He  seemed  a  German  spy,  was  so  set  down, 
Had  passports  through  our  lines  due  formed  and  all 
Well  credited. 

"He  threw  us  off  the  scent, 
Who  dreamed  not  of  his  murderous  intent, 


117 

The  hound!    So,  while  we  looked  for  wine,  did  he 
Slip  back  to  work  this  havoc  out;  but  met 
His  match  and  more  in  this  pale  girl  to  whom 
I  offer  true  apology  and  say 
If  she  would  prick  him  once  again,  I'll  turn 
My  eyes,  nor  see." 

"Far  better,  sir,  to  speed 

Us  help.     Send  surgeons  up  to  bind  these  wounds. 
Can  ye  not  see  this  soldier  reel  and  bleed 
Low  into  death — 

"Oh,  father,  are  ye  come 
At  last?" 

"Child,  I  was  struck  for  dead  and  would 
'Twere  so,  if  life  might  come  to  these  poor  forms 
Again." 


Again  the  needful  binding  of  his  wound 
Did  Carl  endure,  and  almost  did  his  breath 
Suspire;  but  to  the  end  did  he  command 
So  all  went  to  his  will. 

Then  was  the  hurt 

Of  Thurberwald  amended.     At  the  last, 
Perforce  the  surgeons  sewed  up  Niels  de  Rode 
And  on  a  cart  to  Mont  St.  Guilbert's  town 
They  laid  him  to  haphazard  shift. 

At  dawn 

Did  Carl  convene  an  ordered  company 
For  solemn  service  to  the  dead.    They  laid 
The  countess  low  beside  her  lord,  and  pealed 
A  volley  there  and  wound  the  solemn  bugle  in 
The  dell  of  Tappaneau. 


118 

And  Thurberwald 

Pried  off  a  great  stone  from  the  wall  and  hewed 
A  rugged  cross  to  mark  her  rest. 

A  guard 

Was  set  ensuing  days  and  Landwehr  troops  took  charge. 
And  while  a  battle  raged  at  Charleroi 
Upon  the  fields  that  knew  Napoleon 
And  Wellington  and  Blucher  (names  encarved 
Upon  the  centuries)  were  maimed  and  mangled  hosts 
Brought  in  to  whom  the  schloss  became  at  once 
Asylum  fair  and  place  of  rest. 

Until 

The  great  corps  of  relief  arrived  at  length, 
Did  Crystal  serve  the  wounded  ones  so  well 
That  many  strong  youth  owed  to  her  their  lives. 
Right  gratefully  and  tender  did  she  watch 
O'er  Carl  of  Baden  whom  she'd  saved  and  whose 
Command  saved  her.    But  when  at  length  she  might, 
She  said  farewell  to  Tappaneau  and  turned 
Toward  Brussels  town.     She  gathered  hosts  of  flowers 
In  Hisbaye  and  took  them  unto  Charles 
And  found  him  better;  e'en  despite  the  times, 
And  tidings  evil,  yea,  and  bitter  wounds. 


PART  VII. 


SOLDIERS  OF  THE  KING 

Now  while  terrific  strove  at  Charleroi, 
At  Mons,  both  French  and  English  resolute 
To  block  the  southward  sweep  of  German  arms, 
And  ere  Von  Hausen,  sweeping  through  Dinant, 
Had  turned  their  wing  and  left  black  woe 
Throughout  Lorraine,  the  good  King  Albert  struck 
A  mighty  blow  from  Antwerp  on  the  rear 
Of  those  receding  hosts  which  with  Von  Kluck 
Had  havoced  all  the  land  above  the  Nethe 
From  Hasselt  to  the  sea. 

And  such  advance 

Freed  Malines  and  Termond  from  the  foe. 
Two  hundred  thousand  strong  the  Belgian  youth 
Swept  round  their  king.    Then  England  sent 
Ten  thousand  troops  to  complement  the  king's. 
Such  army  lay  behind  the  huge  advance 
Which  hurled  the  French  and  English  to  the  Marne, 
While  every  hour  the  king  his  banners  set 
Leagues  on  against  the  harried  foe. 

Indeed 

So  bold  they  swarmed  at  length  the  Prussian  hordes, 
Led  by  Von  Boehm,  three  hundred  thousand  strong, 
All  sorely  needed  at  the  Marne,  returned 
From  Charleroi  to  beat  them  back.     And  so, 
The  mighty  tide  began  at  last  to  turn. 

Afar,  afar  along  the  mighty  vales 

That  skirt  the  ridged  Carpathians  swept  scores 


120 

Of  armies  out  the  Russian  realms  and  fell 

In  fury  on  the  Austrian  frontier. 

TV  impetuous  rush  ne'er  paused  till  prostrate  lay 

The  whole  plain  of  Galicia.    Each  pass 

That  oped  to  Hungary  was  so  beset 

That  broad-armed  terror  cast  his  shadow  far 

Beyond  the  proud  south-sweeping  Danube's  tide 

Into  Wien. 

Then  manifold  the  force 
Of  proud  invaders  rolling  down  on  France 
Eushed  back  across  the  gray  frontier  in  haste 
To  yield  up  conquest  for  a  stern  defence 
Again  the  angered  bear. 

Thereby  the  Marne 
Became  the  Gordian  barrier  on  which 
The  fury  of  the  foe  was  lashed  in  vain. 
The  marshes  of  St.  Gond  in  fatal  net 
Did  trap  the  Prussians  in  a  wilderness 
Of  woe  and  blood;  gave  time  to  marshal  all 
The  power  of  France. 

Lo  then,  how  bitter  raged 
The  thwarted  foe  against  the  Belgian  king 
Whose  valiant  sword  and  sacrifice  had  been 
The  mighty  shield  of  France. 

From  Ghent  to  Nethe, 

Von  Boehm  spread  out  his  host  along  the  plain 
Of  gleaming  Scheldt  and  battered  down  Termond 
And  filled  the  land  with  shattered  fugitives. 
Then  Malines  was  ground  to  dust  so  fine 
That  to  this  day  no  living  soul  returns. 
Its  goodly  fame  is  dead. 


121 

Huge  battle  planes 

And  monstrous  vehicles  of  air  uprose 
To  hurl  a  shattering  death  on  Antwerp  town. 

Along  the  Nettie  for  red  unnumbered  hours 
The  Belgian  king  his  stubborn  sword  did  play 
And  left  its  ancient  waters  crimson  dyed. 
Across  this  carmine  flood  at  length  was  rolled 
Such  mighty  hordes  and  armaments  that  hope 
Took  wing  to  give  the  vulture  feeding  room. 

And  what  a  feast  of  carnage  there  outspread! 
Down  crashed  huge  fortresses  redoubts 
And  cunning  fortins  'neath  the  lyddite  shells. 
Then  came  the  rushing  infantry  and  swart 
Uhlans  in  tides  that  swept  the  Netherland 
Of  Belgium  like  a  flood,  angry  and  wierd, 
Sweeping  the  sea  walls,  ripping  up  the  dunes. 

Then  toward  the  east  along  the  river  Nettie 
Were  many  men  cut  off  and  thousands  slain 
And  other  thousands  forced  beyond  the  realm 
To  Holland,  where  was  peace,  to  lie  interned 
And  lost  unto  their  king. 

The  rest  swift  fled 

Into  the  west  to  cut  their  way  in  blood 
To  reach  the  sea,  and  with  them  went  the  king. 

Forby  the  dreadful  travail  of  that  flight 

Were  many  lost,  and  by  the  dashing  enemy 

Were  many  were  seized  and  thrust  beyond  the  Rhine, 

To  languish  to  this  day. 

For  all  a  host 
Did  gain  Ostend;  and,  lo,  a  friendly  fleet 


122 

From  England  came  and  succored  them  so  well 
That  Albert  and  his  men  kept  stout  their  hearts 
And  swinging  into  France  with  their  allies 
Did  seize  the  Yser  from  the  very  clutch 
Of  that  proud  force  which  backward  rolled 
On  Belgium  from  the  Marne. 

And  thus 

A  third  time  did  the  valiant  king  upraise 
A  strong,  effectual  shield  to  save  the  land 
Of  France  from  hideous  destruction  and  assault. 

Then  were  the  Belgian  arms  secure  and  strong 
And  flying  from  all  lands  came  loving  youth 
To  join  the  king.    So,  in  the  end,  far  more 
Than  in  the  sharp  campaign  defended  him. 

But  all  the  land  of  Belgium  fell  beneath 
The  rule  of  stubborn  foes  so  that  of  those, 
The  happy  myriads,  not  one  in  four 
Were  left  upon  its  soil.    To  every  land 
They  fled  and  scattered  wide. 

So  was  the  land 

Behind  the  German  wall  disarmed  and  trod 
With  iron  heel.     Sad  women,  sadder  men — 
Because  their  strength  was  bound — The  old,  the  maimed 
Roamed  in  a  wilderness  of  languished  homes, 
Searching  from  town  to  town  the  phantoms  of 
Their  dead. 

The  strong  and  young  cast  longing  eyes 
Across  the  serried  forces  of  the  foe 
To  where  the  king  his  glorious  emblem  raised. 
Then  many  strove  to  run  that  gauntlet  through, 
And  many  failed  and  died  against  the  wall. 


123 

But  some  escaped  to  glorious  release 
To  tell  the  bondage  of  their  brethren 
Till  every  word  was  like  a  spur  to  urge 
Their  vengeance  on. 

No  deed  was  e'er  too  great 
To  be  attempt  and  when  the  mighty  foe 
Had  massed  huge  forces  up  to  drive  them  to 
The  sea,  and  made  resort  to  savage  modes 
Of  war,  the  Belgians  dammed  the  Yser  full 
And  burst  the  dykes  and  turned  a  roaring  flood 
Upon  them. 

There  on  varied  craft,  on  rafts, 
And  logs,  and  clumsy  scows  did  they  engage 
In  furious  assault  and  wierd  foray. 
Dim  in  the  marshes  by  the  ghastly  moon 
Gripped  monstrous  forms  whose  bitter  end  was  death 
Beneath  an  oozy  tide  that  ever  swelled, 
Which  waves  the  chill  of  coming  winter  took. 

Lo,  there  where  slender  moles  and  headlands  cropped, 

Close  hand  to  hand  with  fist  and  heel  was  waged 

Primeval  war,  beneath  the  trackless  dark 

Of  misty  stars,  where  none  did  mercy  ask 

And  seldom  give,  there  in  the  very  deep 

Men  locked  and  grappled,  thrust  and  sank  to  rise 

No  more. 


PART  VIII. 


QUO  VADIS 

So  came  the  deadly  winter  on 
And  famine  served  with  hunger  all  the  land, 
Till  babes  were  cheated  at  the  willing  breast 
And  grand  dames  went  into  their  graves  to  give 
The  children  food. 

Men  looked  with  savage  hate 
Upon  the  comfort  of  the  foe,  but  no 
Appeal  they  urged,  nor  thanked  cold  charity 
In  some  degree  enforced. 

Hid  here  and  there 

Throughout  the  realm  were  fugitives  who  dwelt 
In  caves  and  rocks,  in  woody  deeps,  in  holes, 
In  crypts  of  monasteries  or  amid 
The  ash  and  ruin  of  deserted  towns. 
And  these,  whom  friendly  midnight  cloaked,  were  they 
Whom  wounds  or  swift  catastrophy  cut  off 
From  service  with  the  king. 

Ne'er  durst  they  yield 
Themselves  to  light  of  day  lest  violence, 
Or  death,  or  exile  buffet  them. 

But  these 

All  loyal  Belgians  loved  and  shielded  well. 
They  covered  their  identity  till  time 
Gave  vantage  o'er  the  watchful  foe. 

And   high 
Mid  noble  families  was  secret  formed 


125 

An  oath  bound  clan  whose  end  was  naught 
Save  aid  to  these  unfortunate  forlorn. 

To  this  cause  turned  Prince  Reginald  de  Croix 

Princess  Marie,  Jeanne  de  Belleville,  she, 

Of  Montignes,  Mildred  of  Hainaut,  John, 

A  count  of  Belgian  Luxemburg.    These  brave 

With  many  souls  of  worth  in  every  town 

Failed  not  to  lend  sweet  mercy's  hand  to  all 

Whose  need  was  great.    But  first  among  them  all 

In  spirit  and  resource  was  Mme.  Cavell 

Who  of  Belgian  nurses  stood  the  chief 

At  Brussels  town — and  she  was  British  born. 

And  so  it  fell  when  Crystal  Thurberwald, 
From  Tappaneau,  sought  Charles,  she  found  him  safe 
'Neath  this  kind  woman's  care.     So  Crystal  stayed, 
And  Charles  laid  firmer  hold  on  life  that  hour. 

Their  spirits  hailed  eath  other  as  two  souls, 
Shipwrecked  in  southern  seas,  might  joyous  meet 
And  sit  beneath  the  palms  and  dream  of  home 
Beyond  the  pearly  strand. 

And  Weber  there, 

He  of  the  dominant  foe,   above  his  wounds 
Looked  kindly  on  them  from  his  bed  of  pain. 

So,  when  Charles  urged  for  Caroline,  did  he 
Secure  safe  conduct  that  she  might  rejoin 
The  army  of  the  king.    For  that  her  deeds 
Were  mercy,  not  of  strife,  this  end  indeed 
Was  with  slight  trouble  gained. 

So  Caroline 
Took  kindly  greetings  to  the  king,  in  fact, 


126 

The  heart  of  loyal  Charles.    Thereby  the  king 
Was  pleased  so  well  he  called  his  staff  to  tell 
The  sacrifices  of  Tappaneau  to  hearten  them. 


E  'en  Halmar  Thurberwald  forsook  the  halls 
Of  Tappaneau  and  left  them  to  the  foe. 
The  armor  of  Sir  Godfrey  desolate 
And  in  neglect  no  more  recalled  the  vows 
Of  chivalry.    The  gilded  arms  displayed 
No  more  the  palmy  pride  of  former  days. 

Then  came  mild  spring  and  guards  of  Landwehr  proud 

Drave  out  the  peasantry  to  till  and  sow; 

But  could  not  shape  the  old  sweet  joy  of  life, 

So  common  yet  so  rare.    The  Angelus 

Was  seldom  rung.    Once  rung,  'twas  heard  in  tears. 

The  flowers  went  weeping  under  heels  that  noted  not. 

The  ivy  died  amid  the  ash  and  reek 

Of  ruins  cold.    E'en  lindens  and  plumed  cypress  had 

The  bent  look  of  the  maimed,  the  halt,  the  blind. 

Yet  when  the  wester  breeze  was  crooning  low, 
And  eve  was  calm,  far  far  away  they  heard 
The  thunder  of  the  king,  and  some  forgot 
To  ring  their  hands  and  smiled  and  said: — 
" Christ,  double  every  cannon-shot  for  him." 

And  in  the  midst  of  summer,  when  the  burr 

And  cockle  smothered  all  the  roses  down, 

And  grief  had  sway,  then  from  his  languid  couch 

Gazed  Charles  of  Tappaneau  more  wistfully 

Into  the  west  where  soft  the  blowing  sea 

Fanned  well  the  white  tents  of  the  Belgian  arms. 

And  he  was  sad.     Naught  soothed  his  mid-night  pain. 

Naught  brightened  with  the  bonny  blaze  of  dawn. 


127 

Came  Crystal,  and  he  said,  as  every  morn: — 
"What  hear  ye,  Crystal,  of  the  king?" 

"He  leaps, 

The  maned  and  rampant  lion  of  the  west, 
Against  the  wilderness  of  German  steel. 
Soon  shall  our  cause  be  won  that  he  may  come 
And  soothe  our  several  hurts  and  heal  the  land, 
Like  great  Augustus  in  the  golden  days 
Of  Eome.     Yea  from  our  hearts  shall  he  erase 
Invasion's  mounting  curse  that  touches  heaven 
Like  plague-lined  cloud  to  hollow  thunder  given." 


"I  die  in  waiting,  Crystal,  ere  I  go 

To  him.     He  was  both  brother,  sire  and  king 

To  me.    My  heart  must  break  when  I  may  see 

Him  nevermore.    My  weary,  bitter  days 

Here  wear  to  end.    Then  come  the  manacles, 

My  rough  detention  as  an  enemy, 

And  exile  o'er  the  cold,  unfeeling  Rhine. 

"The  military  staff  did  eye  me  sharp 

But  yesterday  morn.    My  days  be  numbered  here. 

"Keep  up  thy  heart  for  yet  a  little  while. 

Thy  grieving  so  doth  hinder  all  thy  wounds." 

"Yea,  it  doth  poison  them!  But  could  I  see 
My  good  king  at  the  journey's  end,  ah,  strong 
Were  I  within  the  hour." 

"I  whisper,  Charles, 

And  list.  There  may  be  ways  to  glean  thy  wish 
Though  it  may  lie  at  rain-bow's  end.  Hope  on. 
Mysterious  things  abroad  make  league  with  hope 
And  preparations  people  all  the  silences. 


128 

Hands  stretch  out  through  the  night  to  snatch  the  brands 
From  burning  and  to  help  the  fugitive 
Where'er  he  lies.    More  speak  I  not,  nor  dare." 

"What  ages  have  I  grappled  with  my  fears, 
Naught  seeing  but  the  noisome  vault  where  lies 
Brave  Lehman  after  all  his  sacrifice! 
How  many  thousand  tread  that  path  or  worse? 
How  can  ye  bid  me  hope? 


. . 


;Ah,  gentle  girl, 
Hold  not  the  vanishing  mirrage  before 
Mine  eyes!     Lo,  in  this  desert  wearily 
I  die.  the  water  just  beyond  my  burning  grasp. 
No  one  has  loved  the  king  as  I,  nor  had 
Such  cause.    Ye  bid  me  go  to  him,  I  go! 
Though  I  drag  death  behind  me  all  the  way!" 

"I  bid  thee  not.     But  yet  I  say,  O  love, 

Be  ready  for  the  call.    Thou  shalt  not  die 

In  Belgium  under  chains!     Thou  shalt  not  die!" 

"Already  is  my  resurrected  will 

Come  forth  from  out  the  grave!    I'll  hear 

Thy  call  though  death  itself  should  intervene. 

'Tis  mystery  save  for  the  trust  I  have 

In  thee,  which  strikes  it  through  with  light  from  heaven. 


"What  pilgrimage  of  night  and  narrowed  hours 
Doth  send  thee  to  St.  Bavon  friend?  True  need 
And  charity  alone  will  ope  these  doors." 

"A  spirit  absent  in  the  flesh  that  here 
Prevails  by  space-defying  love,  whom  men 
Call  Albert  sendeth  me." 


129 

"Ah!     So?    The  king?" 
"The  king  of  Belgium,  whom  Christ  save." 

"Come,  friend, 

Inside  with  thee  and  cease  thy  mystery, 
For  I  perceive  thou'rt  one  of  our  company, 
And  hast  the  key  to  our  most  secret  crypt, 
Which  for  a  thousand  years  in  Ghent  hath  borne 
St.  Bavon's  changing  fortunes  well. 

"O  friend, 

Here  was  the  refuge  of  lost  souls  bowed  'neath 
The  yoke  of  Spain,  the  inquisition's  toll, 
When  shuddering  Alva  eighteen  thousand  slew, 
With  wanton  sword  and  slavish  cruelty. 

"Behold  a  heavier  heel  than  Alva's  now 
Strides  booted  o'er  the  land,  and  still  we  seal 
The  wary  fugitive  upon  his  way 
To  light.    'Tis  right !    God  help  the  right  we  pray ! 
But  whence  art  thou?" 

"I  come  from  Brussels,  sire." 
"Whose  name?" 

"I  seek  kind  audience  at  once 
With  Reginald  de  Croix,  whom  I  am  told 
Is  here.    He's  called  a  prince  of  charity 
Who  lendeth  secret  comfort  in  our  need." 


. . 


Whom  shall  I  say,  O  friend,  petitioneth? 


"Say  Thurberwald,  one  time  retainer  to 
Count  Charles  of  Tappaneau." 


130 

"I  dare  assure 

A  speedy  audience  in  such  a  name. 
'Tis  known  thy  master's  still  by  wounds  laid  low, 
But  of  his  service  manifold  not  one 
Shall  be  forgot.    Upon  his  call  our  doors 
Sweep  open  of  themselves. 

"This  way.    Behold 

Prince  Reginald  in  conference,  girt  round 
By  night  and  secrecy.     This  humble  door 
Bars  none  that's  needy,  none  that  loves  the  king." 

Then  Thurberwald  bowed  humble  to  the  prince, 
Who  bade  him  rise;  encouraged  him  to  speak: — 
"Oh,  sirs,  Count  Charles  is  scarcely  healed  of  wounds, 
Though  weakly  sutured  now  they  promise  ease. 
The  diligent  foe  doth  eye  this  prize  and  plans 
To  pluck  him  hence  to  finish  by  the  manacle 
What  cannon  failed  to  do.    If  ye  would  save, 
Devise  ye  here  at  once  or  he  shall  lie 
With  Lehman  o'er  the  rumbling  Rhine." 

"If  I,  a  prince  in  Belgium,  may  prevail, 

Who've  had  this  noble's  rescue  long  at  heart, 

Let  me  advise.    '  Tis  new  and  dangerous  enterprise 

To  help  the  unknown  fugitive,  to  guard 

The  safety  of  the  straggled  soldier.    This 

We  have  essayed.     But  thus  to  snatch  from  death 

From  triumph's  wheel  bold  Charles  of  Tappaneau 

Requires  keen  strategy. 

"Nor  dare  we  place 

More  burden  on  our  ally,  Mine.  Cavell, 
Than  those  she  bears.    Nor  lack  we  cautious  signs 
Outcropping  here  of  late  to  hint  of  spies 
Upon  our  closest  secrecy.     The  troop 
Last  convoyed  'countered  many  vicious  snares 
'Twixt  Ghent  and  Bergen-op-Zoom.     We  must  not  doom 


131 

The  lady  of  the  hospital.     God  knows 
She  'd  make  the  sacrifice  and  willing  lie 
With  it  upon  the  altars  of  our  hope; 
But  'tis  too  much. 

"How  think  ye,  Philip  Bancq? 
Art  thou  an  architect  to  plan  a  course 
To  shield  our  chiefest  and  to  save  this  count 
Whose  life  is  worth  a  dukedom  to  the  king? 

"Ah,  sire,  the  way  to  Holland's  more  and  more 
Beset.    What  with  the  pack  cut  loose  when  Charles 
Should  fly,  I  fear  disaster,  wreck  and  end 
To  our  devoted  charity.     Some  stroke 
More  bold,  more  nimbly  cunning  must  avail 
That  his  and  all  our  succors  shall  not  fail." 

"Thou,  Louis  Severin,  skilled  to  compound 
Thy  subtle  drugs,  thy  healing  antidotes, 
Devise  with  us. 

"Albert  Libriez,  may  ye 
Lead  soldiers'  minds  afield,  as  in  the  courts 
Ye  play  psychology  'gainst  justice  in 
The  scale  ?    Help  us  devise  against  these  laws 
Of  war,  beneath  which  jurisdiction  now 
We  groan  unwilling  and  defiled. 

"Tell  us, 

0  Thurberwald,  may  Charles  endure  the  crush 
And  travail  of  a  journey  full  of  stress?" 

"He  could  not  stand  an  hour,  much  less  might  walk. 

1  fear  when  he  but  stands  'twill  be  to  take 
A  fitting  for  his  manacles !    God  help !" 

"All  things  we  plan  we  must  do  speedily, 
Thou,  Thurberwald,  lie  close  at  call.    Forewarn 
Thy  daughter  so  thy  master  fail  us  not. 


132 

This  we  resolve:  we  must  save  him  or  we  die. 
What  is  thy  trade,  my  man?" 

"A   truckster,   sire, 

At  Schaerbeek  nigh  the  great  canal  am  I 
Since  leaving  service  with  the  count." 

"Deal  ye 

With  the  soldiers  or  the  commisariat 
Of  Germany?" 

"With  both  perforce." 

"Return 

Thee  home.    Redouble  intercourse  and  wait 
Thy  word  from  us." 

"My  boat  lies  in  the  Scheldt." 
"Have  ye  a  boat?    'Tis  good.    What  else?" 

"I  boast 


>  > 


A  trusty  temper  and  a  pike. 

"You're  armed!" 

"The  head  is  in  my  bosom.    Of  the  shaft 
Make  I  a  staff.    I  lean  me  on  the  staff 
And  lo,  I'm  armed!" 

"Thou'rt  shrew,  old  man. 
Pull  to  the  measure  thou'rt  discreet.    I  would 
All  princes  had  such  followers.    Watch  well. 
We'll  summon  presently.     Adieu. 

"Thus  friends, 
Our  duties  multiply  amid  the  crush 


133 

Of  these  oppressions  dire  that  strike  our  land 
To  barrenness  and  woe. 

"Now,  Severin, 

To  thee,  the  shrewd  apothecary,  I 
Impose  the  task  to  bring  Count  Tappaneau. 
Devise  it  as  ye  will.    And  you,  Madame 
Countess  de  Bellville,  thine  the  task  to  find 
Safe. shelter  for  him  here,  for  I  foresee 
We  must  provide  for  the  exhausted  count. 
Let  mystery  enlock  the  walls  of  Ghent 
And  shroud  the  purpose  of  our  firm  intent. 
This  enterprise,  though  far  from  coupe  de  mort, 
Remains  keen  whetted  on  desire  to  thwart 
The  foe.    We  set  a  helpless  noble  free 
To  knightly  deeds.    Grim  death  to  all  doth  hang 
Upon  our  bungling.     This  nobleman, 
Beholden  to  our  hands,  is  dear  unto 
The  king.    The  honor  we  would  render  then 
To  his  majesty  must  govern  us  in  all. 

"We  brave  a  power  in  Von  der  Lancken  keen 
As  wine  that  plies  his  subtle  influence 
Sharp  ere  we  dream. 

"Come,  swear  ye  all  anew: 
We  shall  outwit  the  hated  governor 
Who  rules  us  'neath  the  bloody  mace  of  war. 
St.  Bavon,  from  thy  shrewd  and  ancient  tomb 
Vouchsafe  to  eager  spirits  working  room." 


PART  IX. 


LE  COUPE  DE  MORT 

In  Ghent  the  city  of  delightful  flowers 
In  the  calm  eve  moved  St.  Bavon's  sacred  charge 
And  told  his  Christian  rosary.     His  eyes 
Were  dim  with  tears  impelled  by  tidings  sad, 
Till  meeting  one  within  the  nave  he  said: — 

"  Sexton,  toll  a  knell  for  Tappaneau 
And  bid  St.  Bavon's  chancel  solemn  sound 
A  requiem  for  his  soul. 

"We  trusted  he 

Might  conquer  o'er  his  wounds;  but  God 
It  turns,  dealt  otherwise.     So  be  His  will! 
Yea,  but  for  death's  deep  call,  we  hoped  to  aid 
And  send  Charles  to  his  king  once  more.     O  life! 
O  mortal  span,  so  short,  so  full  of  strife! 

"Ope  ye  the  crypt  of  Bavon  sad  of  heart, 

To  share  our  mutual  grieving  with  the  prince 

Of  charity,  his  worthy  grace  de  Croix. 

"Ah,  Reginald,  the  count  is  dead,  and  we 
Most  sad." 

"Father,  our  mortal  plans  avail 
Naught  'gainst  the  vale  of  death,  and  of  our  life 
The  whole  is  frail  when  all  is  told.    Come  ye, 
O  friends,  to  council  in  our  solemn  grief. 
We  trust  to  Severin  for  report  of  this." 


135 

So  while  the  bell  was  tolling  out  God's  rest 
To  Charles  of  Tappaneau,  came  Severin. 

"What  do  ye  tolling  of  the  bell?"  he  said. 
"Is  some  soul  of  our  company  called  hence?" 

"Ah,  Severin,  we  hoped  for  better  news 
From  thee." 

"I  bring  the  best,  the  count  is  safe.' 

"Safe  from  the  fevers  of  our  mortal  frame. 

So  teacheth  faith  that  mourns  life's  flickered  flame." 

"Mistake  me  not.    He's  yet  alive,  the  which 
I  verify  by  word  of  one  most  dear 
To  him  who  waits  within  yon  vestibule. 
I  vouch  for  Crystal  Thurberwald,  indeed, 
As  for  the  life  of  Charles,  O  friends." 

"Alive! 
All  our  dispatches  say  he  died!" 

"Quite  true. 

The  greatest  pains  took  I  they  should.    But  first 
Admit  the  maid,  then  hear  my  news.    A  tale 
It  is  to  tell  that's  worth  a  night  of  mirth." 

Thereby  came  Crystal  'neath  St.  Bavon's  dome 
And  helped  to  tell  the  tale. 

"Now  is  the  knell 

Of  woe  transformed  to  chimes  of  harvest  time 
And  dirges  fade  in  far,  soft  thundering. 
Let  us  invite  the  joyful  course  of  this 
Reversal.     Welcome,  Crystal  Thurberwald. 
Thy  care  preserved  a  soul  against  great  odds — 
Made  Belgium  richer."    Thus  the  prince  declared. 


136 
"Now,  Severin." 

"When  ye  commissioned  me, 
I  locked  my  council  with  a  double  bolt 
Within  my  single  heart,  that,  if  I  failed, 
No  other  soul  soe'er  might  be  assailed 
With  charge  of  guilt. 

"A  surgeon,  I  as  well 
As  skilled  apothecary.    When  this  charge 
Was  given  me  came  I  to  minister, 
As  oft  before,  at  Ecole  Diplomees  where 
He  lay. 

"In  councils  grave  did  I  advise 
I  should  amend  him  with  the  knife.     To  which 
By  argument  more  firm  than  logical 
I  won  my  way.    Beneath  the  anaesthesia 
Prepared  did  Charles  take  on  similitude 
Of  death,  the  which  did  I  announce. 

"Then  in 

The  basket  was  he  carried  to  the  morgue, 
But  ere  we  coffined  him,  I'd  made  of  wax 
A  figure  we  committed  to  the  grave, 
While  in  the  undertaker's  cart  we  bore 
The  count  away  to  Scharebeek  by  the  Scheldt." 

"He  doth  not  tell,"  cried  Crystal,  "all  the  risks 
He  took,  nor  of  the  times  his  wit  alone 
Deceived  the  watching  Prussians  of  their  spoil. 
He  tells  not  how  he  speeded  back  to  Brussels  town 
To  whisper  his  deception  in  my  ear 
And  keep  my  heart  from  breaking.    That  he  did 
While  I  must  ever  tell  it  in  his  praise. — " 

Then  roundly  cheered  the  company  in  mirth 
More  joyful  than  St.  Bavon's  crypt  had  known 


137 

In  many  years,  and  Severin  resumed: — 

"  Right  skillfully  had  Thurberwald  devised 

A  recess  'neath  the  bottom  of  his  skiff. 

There  we  concealed  the  count  and  brought  him  here." 

"Oh  what  romance!     What  breath  from  olden  days! 
Fund  for  a  thousand  legends  to  amaze !" 
So  cried  Prince  Reginald,  and  long  they  laughed 
And  told  the  tale  anew  to  each  that  came. 

Came  Mme.  de  Belleville.    Eagerly  they  plied: — 
"Where  lies  he,  Mme.  de  Belleville*?    May  ye  telH" 

"He's  refuged  at  Grand  Bequinage,  where 
The  ancient  walls  and  silence  of  the  nunnery 
Enclose  his  sanctuary.    There,  thank  God, 
As  yet  the  clanging  Prussian  has  not  trod." 


A  fortnight  rested  Charles  behind  the  moat 

And  slumberous  walls  of  Bequinage.    There 

Each  eve  came  Crystal  Thurberwald,  in  joy 

As  holy  as  those  sacred  nuns,  to  tell 

How  went  the  plans  for  his  escape.     Each  day 

She  plied  her  boat  along  the  Scheldt,  indeed 

As  many  maidens  did  those  days,  the  more 

That  Prussian  soldiers  might  not  think  her  strange 

Nor  question  her.    And  naught  dissuaded  her 

From  sharing  in  the  final  enterprise 

To  go  with  Charles  where'er  his  fortune  lay, 

While  toward  the  west  still  boomed  the  king's  artillery, 


The  Prussian  governor  at  Brussels  town 
Looked  from  his  study  with  complacent  frown 
To  greet  his  friend  and  talk  of  German  rule. 


138 

"  Right  well,  O  Falkenhausen,  since  our  call 

To  Belgium  as  governor  political 

Hath  been  applied  the  rule  of  blood  and  iron. 

The  fretful  populace  has  stubborn  bowed 

Inevitably  down  in  pliancy, 

Swedged  into  line  by  sledge  of  driving  zeal 

And  flaming  will  that  knoweth  no  appeal. 

"No  outbreak  of  great  magnitude  has  torn 
The  public  order,  lo,  these  many  months. 
The  early  summer  shows  all  fields  abloom 
To  harvests  plentiful.    Though  warfare  huge 
Has  turned  the  land  into  an  armed  camp 
'Tis  well  provided  by  f oresightedness. 
The  conquest  went  most  thorough  and  the  rule 
Imposed,  at  least,  may  be  accounted  firm. 
Well  have  we  peened,  as  unto  shapely  form, 
Wills  monstrous  bent  'neath  that  initial  storm." 

"Yes,  order  is  restored;  but  confidence 
Regard  or  any  warmer  word  there's  none, 
This,  Von  der  Lancken's  quite  as  evident." 


. . 


Love  do  we  not  expect.     Too  recent  gored 
Too  harsh  our  German  conquest  here.    We'll  have, 
Nay  do  command,  respect." 

"The   quality 
Of  such  respect  is  force.    Is  it  effectual?" 

"Yes,  in  the  main.    But  still,  our  system  hath 
Some  fault.    It  still  appears  too  oft  that  men 
Who'd  find  escape  to  join  the  enemy 
Do  so  despite  our  careful  guard.    What  aid 
They  get,  or  whence,  is  rapt  in  mystery 
We  must  unearth. 


139 

"Some  into  Holland  flee 
A  few  take  bolder  course  by  far  and  brave 
The  gauntlet  of  our  lines.     Thus  baffled,  checked, 
WeVe  no  proportionate  espionage. 
Trustworthy  natives  for  such  task  be  few. 
None  else  may  serve,  for  none  so  weak 
In  service  as  the  half-suspected  spy. 

"Here  comes  our  chieftain  of  provost.    To  him 
I'll  broach  this  matter  instantly. 

"This  land 

Shall  serve  our  interests  though  o'er  the  Rhine 
We  transport  root  and  branch,  incipient  seed 
And  nascent  bud  of  these  revolts.     Lads,  boys 
And  girls  of  tender  years  by  harsh  constraint 
And  bonds  shall  expiate  these  opposite 
Activities.    The  limbs  that  serve  not,  lop 
Them  instant  off.    Give  them  to  slavery — 
To  manacles  until  they  learn  indeed 
The  will  of  masters  calleth  loud  for  heed. 
Shall  we  be  patient  when  our  patience  rears 
A  bulwark,  secrecy  and  cunning  peers'? 

"Von  Bovardt,  list  to  our  most  just  complaint. 
Thy  office  stinks  of  this  most  formidable  taint. 
Well  art  thou  come  upon  our  present  mood. 
Solve  ye  our  sphynx-like  riddle  to  thy  good. 
How  may  we  curb  this  secret  band  of  lords 
And  notables  ?    It  monstrous  ill  accords 
With  our  firm  rule  to  find  a  portal  loose, 
Flipflapping  to  each  madcap  fugitive 
Who'd  gallop  to  his  king.    By  God,  good  sir, 
It  must  be  stopped ! 

"Why  even  death 
Slipped  in  betimes  and  robbed  us  of  a  prize. 


140 

Count  Charles  of  Tappaneau,  due  shortly  to 
The  prison  camps  of  Rhine,  whips  up  and  doffs 
His  mortal  clods  and  volplanes  up  the  skies, 
Assist  by  some  foul  surgeon's  practices. 
No  finer  chance  to  ploy  our  attributes 
Was  lost  in  this  untimely  taking  off." 

"Ah,  Von  der  Lancken,  give  me  word.     Of  death 

I'm  not  quite  master  though  I  make  him  serve 

Me  oft.    Death  we  administer  but  scarce  may  death 

Control.    Hell  thus  defeats  the  most  o'er-cunning  soul 

At  times!    But  I  report  fair  head  against 

This  secret  clan  and  hope  to  ambush  them. 

"I've  found  a  man  to  weave  within  their  web 
His  cunning  lines,  as  the  keen  spider  watch, 
And  drag  them  in  their  own  amazing  coil. 
He's  lain  all  summer  'bout  the  camps  and  tents 
At  Waterloo  sick  of  a  venomed  wound, 
Which  secret  ripping  he  doth  guard  like  death, 
Though  cursing  oft  its  author  out  of  breath. 

"Him  will  I  send  Ecole  Diplomees 

To  pry  into  that  den  of  rank  iniquities. 

For,  Von  der  Lancken,  there's  the  center  nest 

Of  this  vile  hatchery.    Thus  well  attest 

Our  secret  agencies,  our  censorship, 

Our  spies." 

"Why,  thought  I  so,  I'd  pry  the  grave 
Of  Tappaneau  to  prove  if  he  were  he 
And  dead,  nor  slipt  some  port  o'  Sharon's  raft, 
Cheating  the  muggy  Styx  while  satan  laughed. 
Not  so !    Our  own  physicians  tested  him, 
And  saw  him  dropped  into  the  grave.    Alas, 
What  joy  of  curbing  him  our  fates  let  pass!" 


141 

"Begrudge  not  man  his  tomb,  nor  scanty  gain 
The  grim,  keen  reaper  'wards  to  vanished  pain! 
Tombs  be  the  freest  gifts  we  have,  good  friends. 
Fret  not  one  wins  his  ere  our  bounty  sends!" 

"Well,  stake  thy  soul  on  this  unravelling, 
And  drive  thy  spy  abroad.     So  let  him  bring 
The  net  about  these  flying  shoals.    Send  him 
To  mend  this  fault,  guard  well  where  he  be  sent ; 
By  begging  aid  to  spot  this  hissing  vent. — 
Von  Bovardt,  pray  define  this  Mme.  Cavell. 
Be  she  of  England  born,  she's  kin  to  hell!" 
"Suspicion  aids  us  not,  howe'er  intense, 
O  Von  der  Lancken.    Nay,  we  must  have  evidence." 

"Beget  thy  evidence,  and  hell's  a  groove 
Too  narrow  for  the  pangs  we  shall  approve. 
To  English  blood  doth  such  suspicion  cling, 
It  little  needs  to  set  her  festering." 


So  from  St.  Guilbert's  town  came  Niels  de  Rode, 

Two-faced  and  spy,  to  prey  upon  his  kind. 

So  slid  he  into  wary  confidence 

At  Brussels  town,  and  made  his  way  to  Ghent. 

There  many  clues  he  traced  by  crafty  souls 

Who  played  with  him  the  subtle  double  roles 

Of  seeming  innocence  and  venomed  guile. 

So  on  a  day  upon  the  broad  canals 
Observed  he  Crystal  Thurberwald,  who  rowed 
Toward  Bequinage  in  the  evening  rose. 

"Oh  woman's  grief,  that  says  a  prayer  and  goes 

To  nunnery,  and,  lo,  grief  rolls  into 

The  moat  of  her  despond !    Why  then  she  smiles 


142 

High  up  to  heaven  and  seeks  another  love! 
No  resignation  sits  by  yonder  girl, 
Folding  her  nerveless  hands  and  setting  seal 
On  pale  lips  quivering.     She's  full  of  joy! 

"She  sings!    But  'tis  no  requiem  nor  dirge 
Nor  bitter  plaint  against  th'  unfeeling  earth, 
Nor  roaring  at  God's  throne!     Tis  barcarolle 
To  all  the  stars  of  love ! 

"Now  let  me  watch, 

For  here's  a  mine  of  treasure  to  o'ermatch 
The  promise  of  these  rooting  German  swine!' 

So  Niels  forsook  his  quest,  and  by  neglect 

Came  nearer  to  a  prize  than  by  his  toil 

In  German  hire,  but  guessed  it  not.    Base  oil 

Of  ancient  passion  in  him  flamed  anew 

To  beacon-light  him  to  a  field  of  lewd 

Design. 


PAET  X. 


THE  FLIGHT 

Grand  Bequinage's  nuns  their  Vespers  told 
'Neath  Belgium's  arching  skies  of  ruddy  gold, 
Each  in  her  tiny  cottage  hidden  safe 
Behind  the  medieval  walls. 

Two  souls 

Were  there  whom  but  the  need  of  war  gave  right — 
A  girl  and  lover — might  they  be  so  called 
Who  spake  no  word  endeared — whose  hearts  conversed 
In  elfin  languages  by  dreamy  shores? 

With  what  suppress  of  interest,  nay,  keen 

Delight  the  little  nuns  observed  and  watched 

The  ivy  tendrils  of  romance  unfold. 

Then  many  a  wish  unto  their  beads  they  told 

For  Crystal  Thurberwald.     They  held  in  leash, 

As  by  their  rosaries,  the  study  of 

Her  joys. 

A  quaint,  sweet  jealousy  arose 
To  take  its  form  in  eager  questioning 
Of  Sister  Editha,  who'd  given  her  cot 
To  shelter  of  the  fugitives,  and  who 
By  that  kind  gift  had  nearer  glimpse,  'twas  thought, 
To  paths  which  led  beyond  the  nunnery, 
Nor  short  of  heaven  ceased. 

"O    Editha," 
They  plied  her.    "Do  they  love?    What  words  speak  they? 


144 

How  do  they  stand  to  say  goodbye  ?    Do  they — 
Do  they  kiss  each  other?" 

"My  dears!     My  dears! 

We  must  not  see  such  things.    But  this  I  know, 
They  do  not  speak  of  loving,  though  their  words 
Seem  often  kind  enough  to  be  thereof. 
I  hear  them  speak  of  Arden  hills,  of  flowers 
In  Hisbaye,  of  that  poor  mother  slain, 
Of  months  she  nursed  him  well  in  Brussels  town, 
And  many,  many  things.    But  most  of  all 
The  soldier  asks  about  the  king  he  loved — 
Whom  all  of  us  have  loved  so  well  and  need 
So  much." 


. . 


Speak  not  of  poor,  poor  Belgium, 
O  Editha,  turn  not  to  our  distress, 
Or  all  of  us  must  weep!    We'll  vote  to  see 
In  what  regard  our  charges  stand." 

And    so 

'Twas  gently  voted  they  were  lovers — Charles 
And  Crystal  Thurberwald.     And  that,  indeed, 
Sheer  words  and  kisses  might  add  mere  excess 
To  holy  passion  born  to  tender  souls. 

Before  the  dawn  came  Thurberwald  afar 
From  Schaerbeek  with  a  groaning  load  of  wares 
To  stock  the  boat  that  Crystal  rowed  so  blythe 
Upon  the  Scheldt. 

Then  from  a  portal  hid 
Beside  the  moat  of  Bequinage  came 
Still  languid  Charles  of  Tappaneau  and  took 
His  covert  in  the  double  bottomed  boat. 
And  Crystal  sped  away  beyond  the  walls 
Of  Ghent,  on  toward  the  battled  camps,  toward  sound 


145 

Of  mighty  guns  that  told  the  king  still  fought 
And  held  him  true  against  invasion  foul 
And  vile  misuse. 

And  e'er  she  watched  the  shore 
And  called  her  wares,  as  she  had  done  each  day. 

This  day,  each  landing,  ever  hovering  near 

She  met  an  unaccustomed  form  and  marked 

A  bowed,  old  man  who  leaned  a  staff,  who  watched 

But  said  no  word.    Nor  spake  she  word  to  him. 

And  now  and  then  she  spread  a  tiny  sail 

And  scudded  with  the  breeze  until  at  eve 

She  took  the  straight  canal  toward  Dixmude 

Toward  Ypres  mouth.    But  even  there  not  far 

Ahead  strode  on  with  speed  incredible 

That  grizzled  form.     With  ne'er  a  backward  look 

He  set  his  staff  on  toward  St.  Georges  town. 

There  thick  the  smoke  of  battle  lay,  where  boomed 

The  jarring  ordinance  of  death. 

At  length 

The  summer  fog  came  streaming  in  from  off 
The  Straits  of  Dover  toward  the  west,  and  soon 
The  cypress  swamps  forewarned  of  lowlands  nigh 
The  mighty  sea. 

And  ne'er  had  Crystal  rowed 

As  far  as  this.    All  things  grew  strange,  and  cowed, 
And  warped  by  man's  infernal,  battling  rage. 
The  gloom  and  thunder  spake  of  savage  night 
And  savage  men. 

But  'twixt  the  gruff  reports 
Of  frequent  guns  did  Crystal  improvise 
And  sing  a  quaint  love  song: 


146 

SONG. 
My  love  lies  'neath  the  wave, 

My  warrior  true, 
But  the  gray  sea's  not  his  grave, 

Nor  ocean  blue. 

When  salt  winds  lift  and  bind 

Along  my  sail, 
They  woo  my  lover  kind 

Beneath  my  rail. 

Down  in  the  starry  deep 

Gaze  I  with  joy, 
Where  Mars  doth  sentry  keep 

Above  my  boy. 

Out  of  the  thundering  main 

My  love  shall  spring 
To  be  a  man  again, 

To  meet  the  king. 

Her  merry  peal 

Of  laughter  swept  the  broad  canal,  and,  lo, 
The  faintest  echo  seemed  to  rise  from  depths  below. 
The  spirit  waves  clapped  hands  and  said: — "My  love, 
When  from  my  lowty  grave  I  rise  to  thee, 
"We'll  sail  in  paradise."    Then  Crystal  laughed 
So  clear,  despite  the  grumbling  guns,  the  peal 
Did  reach  the  ancient  traveler  and  sharp 
He  turned. 

Then  from  the  thicket's  edge  arose 
Another  form  to  hail  the  fleeting  boat. 
Halt  there!    What  do  ye  in  the  zone  of  war?" 


.. 


And  Crystal,  startled,  hushed  her  mirth,  but  called: — 
"Methought  the  lines  still  further  on,  good  sire. 
Be  they  not  so?    Will  ye  not  buy  my  wares 
And  let  me  go? 


147 

Then  quite  as  artful  he: — 

"Oh,  yes,  I'll  buy  thy  wares.     Come  thou  ashore, 
I'd  bargain  thee." 

"Be  ye  a  soldier,  sire? 
The  dusk  falls  fast.    I  sell  to  soldiers,  sire. 
To  no  one  else." 

"Come  in,  come  in  at  once, 
Where  you  may  see  more  plain  my  uniform." 

"A  little  further  on  the  bank  is  low, 
Good  sire,  the  landing  more  secure." 

"No  then! 

Just  here,  or  I  shall  shoot.    I  shall  not  bait 
With  thee." 

"Why,  sir,  be  not  so  rough.    No  fault 
Intent,  I've  overstepped  the  safety  line. 
I  would  not  sell  to  thee.     I  shall  return 
The  way  I  came." 

"Ye '11  land  where  I'll  probe  well 
To  know  just  why  thou 're  here,  thou  Crystal,  dear, 
Thou  minx  of  Thurberwald.     I  know  thee  now. 
I  have  advantaged  thee.     Thy  sire  I  slew 
With  clumsy  spade,  but  here  have  I  sure  arms. 
Nay,  I  shall  sink  thy  boat  and  drag  thee  out 
To  better  use." 

"No,  no,  I  come  ashore! 

Sink  not  my  boat.  I  must  return  to  Ghent; 
But,  Niels  de  Rode,  I  know  thee  too.  Deceive 
Thyself  no  more." 

"And  is  thy  boat  a  prize 

So  great,  ye'd  sooner  brave  me  than  its  loss? 
Ye  have  a  cargo  there  that's  valuable." 


148 

"Nay,  I  but  shudder  at  the  cold  canal." 
" There's  some  one  in  thy  boat." 

"See,  I  am  near. 
I  row  alone." 

"Where  have  I  heard  it,  now, 
Of  double  bottomed  boats  that  ride  the  Scheldt? 
Girl,  do  the  waters  of  the  Yser  laugh 
And  clap  their  hands  to  thee  to  recompense 
Thy  songs  ? — Aha !    'Twas  Reginald  de  Croix 
Who  told  me  of  the  boats.     Poor  fool!     Poor  fool! 
St.  Bavon's  crypt  was  open  as  sieve 
To  me.    To  me  of  Mont  St.  Guilbert's  town! 
I'll  dig  some  one  a  grave  he  may  not  cheat, 
And  then  I'll  treat  with  thee  who  cheated  me." 

So  Niels  de  Rode  imposed  his  deadly  aim 
And  Crystal  threw  herself  a  willing  shield 
Down  in  the  boat  to  die. 

But  something  flashed 

Behind  the  gloating  man  and  up  there  loomed 
Gigantic  in  its  straightened  height,  the  form 
Of  Halmar  Thurberwald.    Around  his  head 
His  pike  shaft  whistled,  wheeled  as  like  a  beam 
It  dropped  on  Niels  de  Rode,  and  prone  he  fell : — 

"Ah,  dog  for  mercy,  quiet  thee  and  yelp 
No  more  on  me  or  mine, ' '  said  Thurberwald. 
And  then  to  Crystal  chided  he:    "Ah,  child, 
My  child,  might  ye  for  life  restrain  one  song  ? 
All  I  have  planned  turns  dearly  hazardous 
By  this. 

"Here  take  we  life  on  finger  tips! 


149 

To  beard  the  very  camp  of  death  or  die. 
Come,  mirky  night  o'  fog  and  cloud-veiled  sky! 
Give  me  the  thwarts  to  sweep  the  soundless  oar. 
Roar  guns  afield  and  lead  the  foe  afar. 
Star-shell  and  rocket  spare  us,  overmore!" 


"  O  father,  father  let  us  rest  once  more. 

Charles  faints.    His  sutured  wound  doth  ooze  of  blood. 

'Tis  long  to  dawn,  is't  not?    Where  be  we  now?" 

"In  forest  nigh  to  Bearst.     But  stir  thy  heart! 
We  must  be  on  betimes,  betimes!    The  lines 
Of  Prussia  skirt  the  swamps  of  Yser  here. 
One  rood  ahead  they  lie  along  that  slow 
And  sluggish  lake  the  king  cut  loose  to  gulf 
Them  in  and  save  Calais. 

' '  Receding  floods 

Leave  slender  tongues  of  soil  to  lead  us  through 
To  No  Man's  Land.    Up,  child.    Up  Charles.    Bestir, 
Bestir.    Though  long  to  dawn,  eternity 
Shall  break  with  it  for  us,  if  here  we  lie. 
We  slip  through  yon  haphazard  line.    Come !    Come ! 

"Charles'  hands  are  poisoned  in  the  nettle's  sting, 
Rasped  raw  with  cypress  brush,  rank  weeds  and  vines ! 
O  Charles,  may  you  endure  another  mile  ? 

"Endure  we  must.    Wounds,  nettles,  weeds,  oh  what 
Are  thy  ?    Each  briar  pulleth  toward  the  king 
And  liberty.    On,  Thurberwald,  strong  heart, 
By  fen  and  quagmire  never  over-palled ! 
Fog-wreathe  and  midnight  cloak  the  slender  mole 
Whose  finger  tip  doth  point  so  fair  a  goal. 
We  shall  creep  on,  if  on  our  knees  we  must, 
While  heaven  helps  the  right  and  God  the  just." 


150 

"Then  silent  from  this  copse  to  yon  thick  grove 
Of  cypress  steal  thy  way.    Whatever  betide, 
Speak  not  nor  utter  sound." 

For  hours  it  seemed 

O'er  many  a  quag  and  shattered  bough  slid  on 
The  breathless  fugitives  alert  to  pass 
The  scattered  sentry  posts  and  slumbering  camps, 
Till  pitifully  worn  became  the  strength  of  Charles 
And  pitifully  torn  the  hands  of  Crystal  Thurberwald, 
Whose  strength  would  help  him  on. 

Exhausted  oft, 

And  oft  in  desperate  fear  they  lay  the  ground 
Along  while  clanging  guard  wheeled  by  or  while 
The  powerful  star-shells  cast  an  opal  glow 
Down  through  the  swirling  mist. 

When  thus  the  grove 
Of  cypress,  to  its  heart,  they  crept  to  hide 
In  gloom  impenetrably  dense,  enwrapped 
And  silence-logged,  they  listened  for  the  step 
Of  sentinel,  and  heard  it  not  and  so 
Took  heart  and  crept  along  a  space  to  list 
Again  and  heard  a  groan — a  hopeless  groan. 

'Twas  near  at  hand  but  'twas  suppressed.    They  heard 

The  Belgian  tongue  that  filled  them  with  amaze. 

"Oh  thread  of  chance,  Oh  elemental  fate, 

Oh  destiny  how  light  ye  turn.     Behold 

One  random  shot — but  one — and  all  is  lost. 

Oh  for  one  word  to  reach  the  king — a  voice 

Of  volume  huge  enough  to  overspan 

Both  swamp  and  lake  to  bid  him  strike.    But  here 

I  die  by  cursed  Prussian  bayonet 

When  rising  fever  wakes  my  frenzied  tongue ! 


151 

I  who  escaped  the  fiery  blast  of  Liege 
And  went  unharmed  at  Malines  where  fell 
Ten  thousand  brave  with  Tappaneau,  at  last 
The  stray  shot  shatters  me  and  topples  down 
Upon  my  senseless  limbs  this  cypress  trunk 
To  pin  me  fast.     O  fatal  cannon  shot 
Ye  sprang  from  Belgians  guns  but  little  knew 
The  havoc  ye  have  done.    Yet  had  I  strength 
By  but  a  pound  I  might  break  free.    A  twig 
Doth  baffle  me!" 

With  what  amazement  Charles 

Heard  through  the  gloom,  sheer  in  the  midst  of  foes, 
His  name,  and  recognized  that  voice  despite 
Its  agonies.    He  sought  and  grasped  the  arm 
Of  Thurberwald. 

"May  we  not  rescue  him? 
We  may  not  pass  a  pinoned  Belgian  by. 
I  know  him  Thurberwald. " 

"Ye  do,  and  well 

Yea,  both  of  you!    Since  Turmond  fell  have  I 
Concealed  Monet  a  fugitive.     His  aid 
Alone  has  shaped  this  flight.    If  he  has  failed 
We're  lost.    Like  Belgians  let  us  steel  our  hearts 
Till  sanguinary  death  deluge  the  altars  of 
Our  vanished  liberties.    Brief  time  shall  serve 
Until  I  find  some  course  to  his  relief." 

So  slipped  old  Thurberwald  away  and  soon 
Returned  and  hardly  did  all  three  upraise 
The  green  and  heavy  trunk  that  sank  Monet. 

Once  free,  with  his  unshattered  hand  Monet 
Eang  glad  the  hand  of  Charles.     The  broken  arm 


152 

Eefused  his  tempered  will  and  limply  swung 

But  called  no  groan  from  out  Ms  clenched  lips. 

"I  lay  since  eve  beneath  yon  cypress  prone. 

The  shot  which  cracked  it  off  had  crushed  me  down 

Friends,  hence  apace!     This  tall  tree  where  I  clomb 

Served  well  my  lookout  toward  the  land  of  home. 

For  home  lies  where  all  liberty  doth  cling 

Beneath  the  warlike  shield  of  Belgia's  king. 

We  skirt  this  marsh  and  slow  receding  lake. 

Who  first  shall  reach  the  king  this  message  take — 

The  Prussian  draws  toward  Arras  all  his  power 

"Until  in  Flanders  dawns  our  vengeful  hour. 

Bid  Albert  strike  Dixmude  e  'en  to  Bearst, 

Till,  haply,  this  thin  line  be  rudely  pierced. 

A  sham  defence,  these  swamps  of  Yser  yond 

Invite  again  the  tactics  of  St.  Gond. 

Heave,  poison  guns,  and  spew  thy  fumes  of  hell ! 

We  struggle  home  who  bid  our  land  farewell!" 


Three  hours  ere  dawn  that  summer  night  in  June 
Rose  Niels  de  Rode  from  out  the  copse  where  prone 
He  dropped  beneath  the  blow  of  Thurberwald. 
His  stubborn  life  revived  in  spite  of  all 
Deserts. 

Anon  he  stumbled  back  to  Ghent 
To  Brussels  town  to  weave  unmerciful 
That  coil  which  wrought  the  death  of  Mme.  Cavell 
Despite  the  protests  of  two  weeping  worlds. 
The  same  foul  net  enclosed  on  Philip  Bancq 
On  Louis  Severin,  Marie  de  Croix 
And  Mme.  de  Belleville.    These  were  all  condemned, 
A  score  and  ten  of  Belgium's  fairest  names 
Were  blighted. 


153 

Edith  Cavell  was  shot  by  night 
In  the  lonely  prison  of  St.  Gilles,  and  there 
Against  the  wall  died  Philip  Bancq. 
But  late  and  tardily  the  German  emperor 
Saved  Mine,  de  Belleville  and  Marie  de  Croix. 
Prince  Eeglnald  escaped  the  realm  'tis  said. 

And  foremost  in  the  horde  of  witnesses 
Stood  Niels  de  Rode  the  Belgian  slave. 


PAET  XL 


THE  CRATER  FIELDS 

"Yon  breached  chateau  of  Dixmude  looms  too  near. 
Turn  more  to  right  hand,  Thurberwald.    Avoid 
These  battered  walls  where  Prussia  lies  in  force. 
The  right  hand  skirts  the  swamp.    There  must  we  lurk 
Till,  far  beyond  the  reach  of  swooping  raid 
We're  safe.     How  lies  the  wind? 

"It  bloweth  north 
By  east  Monet. " 

"Tis  near  the  dawn.     The  fog 
Must  lift.    Atlantic's  billow  calls  her  babe 
The  land  breeze  home,  all  sweet  and  whispering 
From  the  Flanders  plains.    The  mists  of  midnight  change 
To  starry  dawn.     Toward  safety  haste,  for  now 
Afar  the  droning  battle  planes  tune  up 
To  early  flight,  to  scout  the  shattered  fells 
Of  No  Man's  Land.    The  earliest  lark  of  morn 
May  ne'er  precede  the  Prussian  bugle  peal 
Sounding  the  swift  foray  the  sullen  raids 
That  grind  to  dust  all  souls  that  crouch  these  shades. 
We  must  be  gone  though  every  step  become 
Us,  like  the  step  of  Atlas,  heavy  strode, 
O'erburdened  with  the  round  weight  of  the  world. 
Each  rod  halts  Charles  apant  and  oft  he  falls." 

"Alas  'tis  true,  Monet.    His  old  wound  bleeds 
And  fever  rouseth  up  within  his  veins. 
Exhaustion  hath  a  heavy,  heavy  hand 
And  cruel  weight  in  such  a  frightful  land. 


155 

Shell  holes  and  craters,  bogs  and  watery  pools, 
Dank  ditches,  trees,  entanglements  and  tools 
Of  recent  strife  make  indiscriminate 
Conglomerate  of  death  and  slaughtering. 
Each  yard  I  fear  we  step  into  a  grave 
Or  dread  infernal  pit  whence  naught  may  save." 

"Ah,  Crystal,  child,  ye  must  not  weaken  now. 
We  must  go  on  if  only  on  our  knees." 

"Best,  Crystal,  and  thou,  Thurberwald,  to  leave 
Us  battered  comrades  here  in  No  Man's  Land. 
Monet  is  grown  too  weak  from  savage  pain 
To  totter  on.    My  old  wound  opes.    My  brain 
Wheels  feverish  and  bows  me  down  to  earth." 

"Thus  far,  dear  Charles,  we've  kept  our  trust,  and  so 
TTnto  the  end.     Yet,  Charles,  a  better  speed 
We  still  must  make.     Lean  on  my  father's  arm. 
I'll  aid  Monet  who's  not  so  great  a  weight." 

"If  we  may  gain  yon  shattered  knolls,  straightway 
The  dread  of  capture  fades  and  boldly  on 
We'll  seek  the  Belgian  lines.    Spur  up  your  souls, 
Ye  children!    Ha,  will  you  let  old  Thurberwald 
Outdistance  you,  and  take  his  white  crown  o'er 
The  ramparts  of  the  king  ahead  of  you? 

"Beat  off  the  langors  of  this  deadly  wilderness 
And  cheat  the  heartless  foe  by  positive  address. 
The  fog  is  up  beyond  the  woods  of  Bearst, 
Huge  battle  planes,  now  taking  air,  thou  hearest. 
When  star-shells  split  this  fog  our  flight's  revealed 
Where  grows  no  twig  of  covert  for  our  shield. 
A  dread  and  droning  drumfire  drives  the  dawn 
A  red  hour  ere  'tis  due  the  hills  upon." 


156 

Thus  did  the  aged  campaigner  spur  the  flight 
And  flog  the  sinking  vigor  of  their  strength 
'Crost  bogs  and  yawning  craters  and  deep  mire, 
And  braved  the  swift  increase  of  cannon  fire ; 
Crouching  against  the  frequent  star-shell's  flare 
Or  over-sweeping  planes  that  thronged  the  upper  air. 

Ha,  'twas  a  savage  need,  a  savage  hour, 
Burst  with  the  hate  of  savage  foe  and  friend, 
Of  plowing  steel  and  plunging  cannonades. 
And  in  the  midst  thereof  fell  Tappaneau 
Deep  in  a  hidden  trench  and  still  he  lay, 
The  low  pulse  of  his  slight  strength  gone. 

At  length 

Did  Crystal  find  a  settled  pool  and  bathe 
The  heavy  mire  from  off  his  battered  wounds. 
She  wept  and  kissed  him  till  he  oped  his  eyes 
Upon  the  clangors  of  the  world  once  more. 

Then,  when  he  could  not  rise,  did  Thurberwald 
Stoop  down  and  lift  him  up  within  his  arms, 
And  took  to  open  flight,  while  Crystal  turned 
To  give  her  final  strength  to  aid  Monet, 
With  woman's  sweet  abandonment. 

No  more, 

Despite  the  sudden  lifted  fog,  they  crouched 
'Neath  wierd  and  lurid  glare  of  coming  dawn, 
But  took  the  open  for  a  swift  and  final  dash. 

With  all  his  load  the  grenadier  with  ease 
Outdistanced  Crystal  and  Monet  whose  strength 
Was  drooping  low,  and  'gan  to  mount  the  knolls. 

High  from  the  Prussian  lines  swept  up  a  plane 
And  rent  the  vapory  atmosphere  apart 


157 

With  shrill  exhaust,  and  marked  the  fugitives. 
The  pilot  dropped  a  flaming  red  fusee 
To  target  them  and  wheeled  and  hurtled  o'er 
Their  breathless  flight  like  angry  lammergeyer. 

Upon  that  broad  alarm  the  outpost  camps 
Awoke  and  belched  fleet  bands  of  raiders  forth 
In  No  Man's  Land. 

Soon,  sweeping  low,  the  plane 
Attacked  Monet  and  Crystal  Thurberwald 
And  rained  a  dreadful  shower  from  above 
Upon  their  faces  pale  and  pitiful. 
Hither  and  yon,  beaten,  confused  and  wan 
They  turned  for  scanty  shelter  while  afar 
The  fog  wreaths  trailed  away  to  opal  haze. 

Up  came  the  raiders — fresh  and  sturdy  men — 
And  seized  poor  Crystal  where  she  knelt  beside 
Monet  outstretched  upon  the  naked  ground. 
His  true  and  quiet  life  snuffed  out  entire. 

"Who  is  that  man!"  they  cried.    And  Crystal  said 
"It  matters  not.    He  has  this  moment  died, 
So  let  his  poor  heart  rest  in  peace." 

But  they 

Were  rough  and  wounded  him,  e'en  as  the  Christ, 
Nailed  to  the  fatal  cross  quite  dead,  was  thrust 
By  Roman  spear. 

A  half  the  ruffian  band 

Took  Crystal  then  and  savage  dragged  her  back 
Into  the  Prussian  camp ;  and  half  caught  sight 
Of  Thurberwald  upon  the  knoll  with  Charles. 


158 

The  old  man  laid  his  burden  down  and  from 
His  breast  drew  out  the  ancient  pike  and  fixed 
It  on  its  shaft  and  keyed  it  there  and  found 
Him  shelter  nigh  a  study  rock  to  take 
The  mighty  rush. 

Lo,  then  a  whooping  shell 

Dropped  by  the  Prussian  guns  fell  mid  the  band, 
Through  some  far  gunner's  careless  aim.    It  burst. 
Up  heaved  its  fragments  huge  and  shattered  them 
Till  three  were  left  unscathed. 

The  dauntless  guard 

Of  wounded  Tappaneau  assailed  them  all 
And  two  he  slew  and  put  the  last  to  flight. 
He  lifted  up  his  Charles  and  bore  him  still 
Beyond  the  knolls  and  damned  infernal  fens 
Until  he  heard  long  Belgian  cheers  outrolling  ring 
And  laid  him  down  upon  the  tent  floor  of  the  king. 

But  up  sprang  Charles  and  cried:    "O  Albert  King! 
Fly!    Rescue  Crystal  Thurberwald!     She  lies 
Out  there  in  No  Man's  Land.    She  dies!    She  dies 
A  thousand  deaths!    And  thy  Monet  is  there! 
The  Prussians  mass  at  Arras  for  a  thrust. 
No  better  time  nor  any  need  so  just. 
The  swamps  are  thinly  manned.    Sound  on  the  charge 
To  storm  Dixmude  schloss  and  old  St.  George!" 

And  Albert  rose  and  manned  that  mighty  surge 
That  won  St.  Georges'  town  and  Ypres  verge, 
Dixmude  and  the  huge  chateau  thereof. 
And  ever  after  fought  the  Belgian  king 
On  equal  terms  against  the  Prussian  hordes. 

But  Crystal  Thurberwald  was  gone  nor  any  trace 
They  found  save  that  torn  corpse  of  brave  Monet, 


159 

While  only  Caroline  stood  twixt  the  grave 
And  Charles  in  his  regret. 

Then  by  a  space 

Of  days  one  morn  uprose  a  mighty  plane 
High  o'er  the  Belgian  lines — but  no  one  fired. 
The  Maltest  crosses  of  those  monster  wings 
Were  covered  o'er  with  white — the  truce  sign  of 
The  air. 

A  letter  fell  which  bore  a  ducal  seal. 
'Twas  Carl  of  Baden  to  the  Belgian  king. 
It  read: 

"O  worthy  king,  may't  comfort  thee 
To  learn  the  fate  of  Crystal  Thurberwald. 
Condemned  is  she  for  her  attempt  to  aid 
A  fugitive  across  our  lines  to  thee. 
That  she  succeeded  not,  and  your  Monet 
Was  slain,  has  saved  her  bosom  from  the  shot 
Of  execution.    Yet,  for  all  the  period 
Of  present  war  it  is  decreed  shall  she 
Be  held  a  prisoner. 

"I  have  prevailed, 

I  trust,  since  she  preserved  my  life  so  well 
At  Tappaneau,  she  be  paroled  to  me 
To  ancient  Karlsruhe  to  my  ducal  halls 
In  Baden. 

" There,  if  I  succeed,  111  forge 
Her  chains  in  gold  of  calibre  so  light 
They  shall  not  chafe  nor  gall  her  tender  hands. 
If  I  succeed  not,  Christ  forgive  us  all 
For  our  hard  hearts.    Amen." 

King  Albert  wept. 

For  that  indeed  was  all,  and  not  one  word 
Until  this  day  has  come  from  Crystal  Thurberwald. 


160 

But  after  months,  when  Mels  de  Rode  had  sprung 
His  fatal  coil  on  Mme.  Cavell,  and  worked 
Disgrace  and  death  on  half  a  hundred  names, 
To  Belgium  once  again,  alone  and  stern, 
Went  Halmar  Thurberwald  and  sought  him  out 
At  Schaerbeek  town  and  slew  him  like  a  dog. 

Then  Albert,  king  of  the  Belgians,  called  for  Charles, 
And  said: — 


. . 


Well  hast  thou  fought  and  many  are 
Thy  wounds.  I  bid  thee  rest.  A  ducal  name 
I  promise  thee  when  our  dear  kingdom's  won. 

aBy  rare  prerogative  of  royalty 

I  raise  to  sit  among  the  peers  the  maid 

Ye  knew  and  loved  as  Crystal  Thurberwald, 

Wher'er  she  dwells.    For  in  the  new  peace  of  the  world 

I'd  have  thee  wed  and  crowned  with  noble  sons. 

"Now  Charles, 

Speed  thee  at  once  across  the  mighty  sea. 
Tell  there  the  tale  of  Belgium.     Tell  it  well. 
And  in  thy  sad  evangels  far  and  wide 
Weave  in  this  querry  to  the  kindly  friends  of  man, 
And  ask  them  straight:     SHALL  THESE  THINGS  BE? 

"Where'er  our  valor's  deeds  shall  wake  no  cheers 

Whisper  the  tale  of  Crystal  Thurberwald, 

And  win  them  through  their  sympathy  and  tears." 

The  End. 


YC 


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